


til the clocks run down

by andibeth82



Series: and when we're there we'll belong [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone loves a good OT3, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Multi, OT3, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 257,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I do love her."</p><p>The words don’t shock her -- not really, not when she lets herself think about it. She does believe that Clint hadn't been sure about how deep his feelings for Natasha went the first time he admitted his attraction to her. But Laura would have been a fool to believe there wasn’t something more developing, especially after being around them in the few times they’d visited together since Clint’s confession. It had been easy to tell how their partnership was becoming comfortable, a relationship as worn and cozy as the one Laura’s built for herself with the man she’s loved for almost eight years.</p><p>[the beginning, the middle, and the journey home]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1999

**Author's Note:**

> Simply put, this is a continuation of **[i love only that which they defend](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4767218)**. This story is technically meant to expand on parts of the original fic or add to scenes that I originally wrote, which explains some of the 'time jumps' you might notice in certain chapters. However, this fic is also very much its own beast, complete with its own narrative. It can absolutely be read as a standalone. (Fair warning that there _are_ references to specific moments and characters from ILOTWTD woven throughout.) Each chapter follows the same "yearly" format as the original fic and the overall story (with the exception of the first and last chapters) follows a nonlinear timeline, but there is a consistent throughline that ties everything together.
> 
> This is a history and a journey of three people who love each other, who all came into a triad relationship in different ways and with different backgrounds and (in some cases) previously-established relationships. It's a story that chronicles the ups and downs and the good and bad of a polyamorous relationship: what happens when you fall in love, learning how to become a family, learning how to build trust, learning how to forge a relationship between three people and their pasts. The length reflects that, and chapters will get longer and more involved as the story goes on. Essentially, this is me attempting to wrangle the many, many, MANY feelings about these three and their relationship into a cohesive narrative, while fitting it into what is now the current MCU canon post Age of Ultron.
> 
>   
>  _i'll let you build your home with me till the clocks run down / when your looks run out / call me and i will come and fix you / get your feet on the ground."_   
> 

Laura arrives at the bar to find Clint making two drinks, his back turned to where she’s positioned herself against the counter.

“Hey, stranger.”

Clint looks up over his shoulder, and throws her a smile. “Hey.” He gestures to the drink he’s making, what looks to Laura like a complicated mixture of fruit juices and liquor. “I’m not done here for another hour.”

“I know,” Laura says, sliding onto the chair at the far corner of the bar. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait.”

“You sure?” Clint eyes her. “Might be a bit, since I have to clock out after and take care of a few things. I can get you a beer, if you want.”

“You _could_ ,” Laura responds, because she’s not as much of a drinker as Clint is, but she’s also not going to turn down free alcohol when it’s offered. Clint grins and then fills a glass with Heineken, leaning over the table for a quick kiss as he puts it down in front of her.

“Go work,” she shooes, pushing him away playfully. “Your customers will think you’re flirting.”

Clint shrugs. “I am,” he says with a smirk and Laura smiles back.

“They don’t know I’m your girlfriend, Clint.”

“Mmmm. Okay.” He kisses her again before striding away, and Laura hides another grin. Seeing Clint like this -- not only content in a place he felt like he naturally belonged in, but also overly happy in her presence -- was worth the grief she had been getting fed recently about spending too much of her free time with “that guy who works at the bar and has a terrible resting face.”

Laura sips her drink slowly, unearthing a thick packet from her bag and settling in, tuning out the world while highlighting formulas and making notes in the margins of the book. She’s so caught up in her work that she doesn’t even realize how much time has passed, until Clint slides into the open seat next to her.

“You know, bartending is _all_ about chemistry and formulas.”

Laura looks up, shaking back her hair. “I know that,” she says, closing her book. “But unfortunately, that’s not what I’m going to get tested on for my final.”

Clint wrinkles his nose, and although it’s an expression that Laura knows she probably shouldn’t find adorable, she can’t help but feel endeared.

“What kind of classes does that school have where you don’t get tested on the important things in life?”

“Idiot,” she mutters, swatting at his arm. “Chemistry _is_ important.” Clint grins, and Laura sighs.

“Are you done here?”

“Just about.” He gestures towards the cash register. “Got all my bills sorted, so I’m free for whatever you have planned for me.”

Laura stares at him, feeling her face grow red. “What makes you think I have plans?”

“I dunno. A hunch.” He shrugs, reaching for her hair, pushing it behind her ear. “It’s four in the afternoon and you’re dressed like you’re going to a dance.”

Laura feels the flush on her face intensify as she looks down, suddenly wondering if her outfit choice was _too_ over-the-top for a casual outside dinner. She had wanted to try to do something a little different than their usual take-out or bar deal, and picking up a new outfit in celebration of her most recent grades was a perk she was hoping to show off.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t get all weird on me,” Clint continues as they both stand up. He straightens her skirt and puts his hands on her shoulders. “I like it. I think you’re beautiful.”

“ _Now_ you’re flirting with me,” Laura says, rocking up on her toes to kiss him. “ Come on, Barton. Let’s get out of here.”

 

***

 

Ledges State Park, which is roughly fifteen miles from campus and from Clint’s bar, is a twenty-minute highway drive that turns into a road, that eventually leads to a small entrance that spills into a lush green campsite. Clint gets out of the car, his face changing in surprise as he takes in the landscape.

“You know, I’ve heard of this place but I’ve never been here.”

“My freshman year roommate held an event here for our sorority,” Laura says, closing the door and handing him one of two large bags. “I used to go here to find some peace and quiet, since it’s a little off the beaten path...I haven’t made the trip in awhile, though.” She inclines her head. “You coming?”

Clint nods, following her into the park and past a few mounds of gardens that house brightly colored flowers alongside small trickling lakes, until they’re about halfway through the park. When they stop over a stone bridge that overlooks a small rushing creek, Laura puts down the bags and starts unpacking. There’s two full bottles of wine, and the salad that she’s prepared and cookies from the bakery in town, along with a carton of soup made from Laura’s mother’s recipe, the one that Laura knows Clint likes best.

“You made dinner?” Clint asks, his smile growing as Laura hands him a stuffed sub sandwich topped with extra horseradish and cheese. She nods a little shyly, setting out two plastic glasses and opening one of the wine bottles, pouring generously.

“I just...I wanted to do something nice,” she says as she settles herself down on the bridge, swinging her legs over the edge and staring at the water. “Something different. And get away from our usual places. You work so much, you’re always coming back late...and you’re _still_ trying to do so much for me.”

Clint shakes his head, sitting next to her. “You didn’t have to do anything like this,” he says slowly. “I mean, I’m serious, Laura. I _like_ doing stuff for you. It’s not a burden for me. I wouldn’t make the effort if I didn’t love you.”

 _Love_. Laura stills, losing focus as the red wine spills over the side of the cup and drips onto the ground like a wave of blood.

“Shit.” Clint grabs for a napkin and then takes the overfilled cup from her hand, sucking down the wine until it's sitting at a more respectable level. “Laura, I didn’t mean -- fuck, please don’t hate me --”

“No,” she interrupts, once she feels like she can breathe again. She shakes her head, because it’s not a revelation, and it’s not even a shock. She’s been _in love_ with Clint since the first day they met, though it had admittedly taken her awhile to separate the feeling of head-over-heels lust from genuine emotion. Clint’s face falls and Laura realizes what she’s just said, the absence of the sentence that hasn’t bothered to follow her response.

“No,” she repeats, scooting forward, ignoring the dirt stains that she knows will probably become prominent on her skirt. “No, I mean...I don’t hate you, Clint. I love you.”

Clint looks up. “You do?” He takes another drink of wine and Laura can’t figure out if the gesture is a nervous twitch or if he’s just trying to distract himself from the conversation.

“Yes,” she says, taking the cup back and finishing the wine off. “I love you. I’ve loved you for awhile, I just...I don’t know why I never said it.”

Clint breathes out slowly. “Me, too.” He looks embarrassed. “I guess in the past, uh...well, for me, telling someone my feelings hasn’t always been a good thing.”

Laura furrows her brow, moving closer until she can lean her head against his chest. “Why not?”

Clint shrugs. “I dunno. Just...always blew up in my face. I think it was always better when I never had to worry about belonging to anyone.”

Laura’s heart aches at the strange and rare window of vulnerability that Clint’s allowing her to see, a part of him that he keeps so locked up she usually only sees it in bed after sex, when they’ve managed to pull both of their guards down in every single way.

“You can belong to me,” Laura says quietly. “I _want_ you to belong to me.”

She feels his lungs contract as his breath catches and he trails his fingers through her hair -- the soup’s going to get cold, she knows, if it’s not already. But right now, she can’t think about anything else except being in this moment, and she knows that he feels the same.

“I can’t believe you got all my favorite foods,” he says when he finally speaks again, and she can tell he’s trying to break the suddenly heavy mood. Laura smiles, sitting up.

“Hey, I may oversleep sometimes, but I did learn _some_ things from all the times you’ve raided my fridge.”

“I do not raid,” Clint protests. “I just, you know...I help clean it out.”

“With your mouth,” Laura shoots back as Clint pulls at her arm, falling backwards onto the bridge. She lets out a shriek as she falls on top of him, turning over so that she’s lying on his stomach, and one of his hands travels up her leg, underneath her dress.

“You know, this park is public property, which means this could also probably be considered illegal,” Laura says as he strokes the inside of her thigh. Clint makes a guttural noise.

“Probably. Do you care?”

Laura finds herself smiling. “Only if we get caught,” she says as she grabs his face and kisses him, their legs tangling in the dirt.

 

***

 

“Chapter twelve is your homework for the night, also, please make sure that you turn in your papers to me before you leave class. See you tomorrow.”

Laura barely registers the professor’s drone as she snaps her book shut, gathering her notebook and taking out the thick stack of papers that she’d spent too long binding that morning while Clint decided to sleep through six different alarms. Depositing them on the front desk with a flourish, Laura turns and walks quickly out of the classroom and then out of the science building, hurrying across the lawn.

“What’s the rush?”

She stops in her tracks at the familiar voice that jars her so much she almost falls over, doubling back to find Clint leaning against one of the trees. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and is grinning far too much for her to feel like he’s just here on a whim.

“What are you doing here?” Laura asks curiously as she walks towards him. “I thought you were working until later.”

“Called out,” Clint says easily. “Every now and then I like to kind of say ‘screw it’ to the people who want to get drunk at four in the afternoon.”

Laura eyes him, because among the things she knows about Clint, it’s that his work ethic is so strong he could be running a fever and he’d _still_ insist on being at the bar. “You never call out,” she says slowly and he shrugs.

“Yeah, I do. You just haven’t seen me do it yet.”

Something feels off, and she’s not quite sure what, but between his easy-going attitude and random appearance, Laura’s more than a little suspicious.

“Walk with me,” she says instead of asking the obvious question as they move away from the tree and he falls into step beside her. There’s a coffee shop on campus but she knows she’s not going to immerse herself in that environment, deciding to lead him instead to a small cafe just outside of school grounds, on the edge of the small college town.

“I’m not dating you for nothing,” Laura says after they’ve ordered and have sat down at a tiny table in the back of the restaurant, because she’s not going to bother to hold off. “ _Something’s_ going on.” When he doesn’t respond, she sighs heavily.

“Look, Clint. I’m trying not to call you out on this, but the fact is, you never show up randomly after class. You _always_ wait until I get home. And even if the thing about you taking a day off sometimes is true, it still doesn’t explain why you’re here right now in the middle of the day. Something’s wrong, and I want to know.” She lets her voice soften as she reaches out, closing one hand over his. “I promise I won’t be mad if you tell me.”

Clint looks up, his previously clouded eyes clearing at her words, and nods slowly as the waitress puts two cups down in front of them.

“The guy I’m living with…”

Laura waits for him to continue, her stomach curling, genuinely unsure of where he’s going with the rest of the sentence.

“I got into a bit of a problem with him.”

Laura narrows her eyes, feeling the skin on her forehead fold into lines. “What?” she asks, the hand not holding his curling around her mug. Clint leans back and rubs a hand over his face for a long time, until Laura’s sure that he’s scrubbed all the skin off.

“We had a fight this morning,” he says when he finally lets his arm drop. “Well, not our first one, but, you know...guys can be assholes sometimes, just as much as girls can. Anyway, he had just gotten fired from his third job in a month. Couldn’t pay the rent. I’d been covering for him...since I get so much from tips, I could afford to help him out a little, but I’m not doing that anymore.”

Laura arches a brow. “I didn’t know you’d been paying for someone else’s rent this whole time,” she says a little sharply, wondering if there’s anything else about his situation he hasn’t bothered to tell her. To his credit, Clint looks more than a little guilty.

“It’s a recent thing, honestly. Wasn’t doing it til a few months ago. When I moved in, when I first met you, everything was still good.”

Laura takes a sip of coffee, tempering her annoyance. “Okay.” She leans forward. “So what happened?”

Clint winces. “Like I said, we had a fight. Told him I wasn’t gonna pay him, and he said if that’s the case, I couldn’t live there anymore since it was his place, his name on the lease and all, and then….” He trails off.

“And then?”

“And then he threw me out.”

“ _What_?” Laura puts her cup down a little too fast. “For real?”

Clint groans. “Yes, for real,” he says curtly. “Took away my key and came after me -- I mean, literally shoved me out the door before slamming it in my face. Why the fuck would I come here and lie about being homeless?”

Laura feels startled by the intensity of the words and she forces herself to curb her emotions. “So where are you going to go?”

Clint shrugs. “Dunno. I’ll find some place, I guess. Once I get my things back. _If_ I get them back. For all I know, my stuff could be sitting out on a curb right now with some dog going through my boxes,” he adds with a snort. “I’m not asking to stay with you, though.”

Laura tilts her head, because obvious or not, the offer was going to be the next thing out of her mouth. “Why?”

“Because.” Clint’s eyes turn hard. “You live in a dorm, Laura. You have a roommate, and god knows we’ve already pissed her off enough with the fact I’m always there and our sex isn’t exactly quiet. I’m not going to move all my shit into your place and demand you take me in just because I need help.” He stops, as if realizing what he’s just admitted, and Laura watches as he mentally and physically draws back. “I’ve gotten through this kind of situation before. I made it work. I’ll make it work again.”

Laura opens her mouth and then closes it against another question that she isn’t sure she wants the answer to. “But you don’t have anywhere to go,” she repeats helplessly.

“Like I said, this isn’t new. I’ve been homeless before. Well, kind of.” He grimaces at the memory and it makes Laura wonder just how much of his life had really been in flux before he had settled down. “I’ll find something.”

Laura hesitates, going over the words in her brain before saying them out loud.

“We could get an apartment. Together.”

Clint stops in the middle of drinking his coffee, his eyes going wide. “Move in together?”

“Why not?” There’s a part of Laura that thinks maybe she should be a little more wary about approaching the situation like this, throwing the suggestion out there without thinking it through more, but at the same time, she trusts what her brain is telling her and she also knows that she trusts how she feels about him. “We’re practically living together, anyway. We already spend all our time together when I’m not at school and you’re not at work. What’s the harm in getting some place small that we can share? That won’t have a roommate,” she adds with a small smile. Clint looks down, playing with his napkin.

“You wanna move in before I meet your parents? Before you graduate?”

Laura shrugs. “I’m graduating in a month,” she answers. “And I still haven’t figured out what I’m doing afterwards...or where I’ll be. But I’m hoping that whatever I do, it’s going to be with you.” She pauses, allowing her words to sink in. “If you want to be with me, that is.”

Clint nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I do. Of course I do. I just...”

Laura reaches out, squeezing his hand. “You just what?”

“I just don’t want you to do this because you’re taking pity on me,” he says tiredly. “On my situation. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Did I say that?” Laura asks a little too harshly. “I’m _offering_ it, Clint. I was going to probably offer it anyway, once I graduated, but I’m offering it now. Maybe things happen for a reason.”

Clint manages a smile. “Maybe.” He swallows, shifting his eyes. “Maybe we can get a big screen television.”

Laura groans. “At this point, I’d settle for a shower that doesn’t take ten hours to heat up in the morning.”

“Actually, you know what? A waterbed would be nice.”

Laura glares, kicking him swiftly under the table, sharing his smile. “Don’t press your luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for reference: [Ledges State Park](http://iowastateparks.reserveamerica.com/camping/ledges-state-park/r/campgroundDetails.do?contractCode=IA&parkId=610148) and [the bridge in the park](http://iowastateparks.reserveamerica.com/webphotos/IA/pid610148/3/540x360.jpg) that Clint and Laura visit.


	2. 2006

“Damage control.”

“What?” Natasha looks up from cleaning her gun, and Clint sighs.

“Damage control,” he says, motioning to the monitor. “You wanna give the report, or should I?”

“Oh.” Natasha looks a little startled, slightly off-kilter, and Clint feels he can’t blame her. Coming close to death wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for either of them, but the fact that they had _both_ been staring the grim reaper in the face for longer than they wanted to admit wasn’t something they were going to immediately recover from -- at least, not anytime soon.

“I’ll do it,” Natasha says after a moment, reaching for the tablet sitting next to her. The quinjet shudders quietly as she moves her hands over the screen and Clint removes his hand guards, groaning as he flexes his wrists.

“How are your fingers?”

And of course, she’s noticed. Sometimes, between her and Laura, he wonders if there’s anything he can get away with.

“Sore,” he admits. “Remind me to ice ‘em when we get back? I really don’t need to get my limbs amputated.”

“No, you really don’t,” Natasha agrees dryly as she turns her focus back to the screen, and Clint lets himself drop to his knees, lowering himself to the floor and leaning back against the wall of the jet. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until Natasha shakes him awake sometime later, after they’ve landed.

“Stay with me, Clint,” she says seriously as he opens his eyes, her face swimming into focus. “You gotta get home, and I need to make sure you’re okay before you pass out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ignores the look she gives him because he knows as well as she does that it's a response for Laura, but hell if he can help it from slipping out when he’s already not thinking straight. Clint manages to push himself to his feet, moving off the quinjet and eventually gaining enough balance so that he can walk without the crutch of her arm.

“Come home with me,” he says suddenly when they’re halfway into headquarters, heading towards their respective rooms. “You really don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Natasha turns on her heel and looks at him, and he sees the anxiety shadowing her face -- the expression he knows she would never let anyone see, and the one that she’s too tired to mask. He knows that as much as she’s tough, she’s also not immune to how she’s feeling, mostly because he’s feeling the same way. Natasha nods slowly.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Let me get my stuff and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Clint returns to his quarters, shoving a few items in his bag and changing out of his uniform into jeans and a sweatshirt, and Natasha calls a car once they get to the lobby because he’s too tired to even think about _that_.

“Good to be home,” he says under his breath when the cab finally pulls up at the front of his Brooklyn apartment, and Natasha snorts.

“We were barely gone.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the point.”

They haul their things out of the car and Clint opens the door, ushering Natasha inside, throwing his bag to the ground. Clint goes straight to the bathroom and Natasha goes to the kitchen for water before heading directly to the couch; it’s a silent, practiced, tried-and-true routine that they’ve come to adopt after coming home from somewhere, even if they haven’t been compromised in any way. When Clint emerges from the bedroom, he’s changed from his travel clothes into a loose fitting t-shirt with the words TELL ME I’M SEXY branded along the front, and Natasha rolls her eyes when she sees him.

“I will not,” she decides, glancing at the words across his chest, and Clint huffs out a laugh.

“That’s for Laura.”

“Clearly.” Natasha’s discarded her regular clothes, trading a pink shirt and jeans for a small tank top and even smaller shorts, and Clint doesn’t realize he’s looking at her a little too intensely until Natasha quietly clears her throat.

“Blanket, please.”

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s asking, before he turns around and walks back into the bedroom, grabbing the afghan from its spot on the floor. Natasha smiles when he hands it over, spreading it out on the couch, and then before Clint realizes what’s happening, she’s reaching for his hand and pulling him down with her.

His first instinct is to get back up, despite the fact that being intimate like this isn’t anything new -- they’ve sat closely together, they’ve curled up with each other on more than one occasion, whether it was a movie or because they needed to keep themselves from dying of hypothermia. They’ve developed a comfort that Clint knows stretches beyond simply being _partners,_ but there was intimate and then there was _intimate_ , and Clint’s feeling tired and needy in a way that he’s only used to affording Laura the luxury of seeing. Natasha seems to sense his hesitancy, tugging at him harder, until he all but collapses on top of her. Immediately, his arm finds its way around her middle and she sighs quietly; it’s a sound that reminds Clint of Laura and he feels another wave of uncertainty roll through him, before Natasha continues to shift in the small space, her hand dropping and coming to rest dangerously close to his crotch.

He stiffens, even though Natasha’s hand is still, her fingers not making any effort to move in a way that might set him off. Still, he knows that even if he can keep his dick from hardening, between his tiredness, the emotional trauma of their recent mission, and the intimacy of the whole situation, he's liable to become incredibly turned on. He’s just gotten _that_ thought through his head when Natasha turns over as much as she can, their faces practically squished against each other, and when she exhales he finds himself shivering against the breath that tickles his skin.

“Thank you for tonight,” she says quietly, before leaning over to kiss him on the lips.

It’s not a kiss Clint’s seen Natasha give her marks when they’ve role-played in various situations -- it’s not deep and engaging, and it’s not seductive and quick. It’s comfortable, gentle, almost as if she’s decided it’s something that she _wants_ to do, and Clint kisses back on instinct, unable to pull away.

Natasha moves her mouth, angling her face so that her tongue can slip between his teeth and Clint moans, feeling the blood rush to his lower extremities. If Natasha notices (and Clint knows there’s no way she _can’t_ notice), she doesn’t seem bothered.

“This is a really small couch,” Natasha says breathlessly when they finally break apart and Clint ignores the warning bells in his mind as he stares at her eyes, which are narrowing in a silent smirk. He scrambles off of her without a word, grabbing her hand and leading her to his bed. Natasha strips as soon as she gets into the room, throwing her clothes on the floor until she’s wearing nothing but her bra and the lace underwear that Clint has tried time and time again to forget she owns.

“Do you mind?” she asks belatedly, glancing up. He shakes his head, realizing at this point it can hardly matter. They’d already kissed, and a lot more intimately than they should have. Natasha smiles, and then shrugs out of both her underwear and bra until she's completely naked.

“Good. Because you need to fix the air conditioning in here, it’s brutal.”

It is, Clint realizes as he discards his own clothes in turn, or maybe that’s the situation talking, because part of the reason he’s never bothered to fix his appliances is that, aside from the fact he’s not home too much, he’s not really irritated by the heat as much as he knows other people are. Natasha climbs into bed and pulls the covers over herself as Clint does the same, thankful that his erection has at least lost itself for the time being, despite Natasha’s indecency.

Clint’s just gotten comfortable against the mattress when he realizes Natasha’s pressed up against him, digging her hands and nails into his back, her breath warm along the parts of his skin that still tingle and burn. Her breasts press into his spine, her knees knocking against his waist as if she needs him to anchor her. She’s holding him a way that feels a lot like Laura would, but it’s different, because Laura’s hands feel different, and Laura’s legs touch his in a different way, and her breathing intervals are different than Natasha’s.

He feels like he should protest but she _fits_ , and he’s in his own bed finally, and he’s too tired to do anything else but pass out, and so he lets his mind slip into darkness while Natasha continues to hold tight to his body.

 

***

 

Clint wakes up with a dry and scratchy throat -- that would be the remnants of smoke inhalation, he knows, the fire that had accounted for most of his recent injuries -- and with Natasha still wrapped around him, her hands now having progressed to his waist, wrapped fully around his torso, two fingers resting on his large scar. He smiles to himself, closing his eyes, content to let himself drift off again because he knows it’s still too early to get up (and even though they were supposed to be in the office later, they had both been given free reign on the timing). But then Natasha shifts and his brain snaps into realization at who is actually sleeping next to him, and he jerks forward, untangling himself as he hastily scrambles out of bed.

She remains asleep beside him and for that, he’s grateful, because he needs time to be alone with his thoughts and he’s not about to actually leave the apartment in his current state. The fire escape provides some measure of comfort, at least, and that’s where Natasha finds him when she finally rouses herself a few hours later, climbing out and joining him on the rickety slats.

“Are you okay?”

Clint wraps his arms around his body, shivering through the folds of his SHIELD sweatshirt. “No.”

Natasha’s face is shadowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Clint lets out a laugh that he realizes sounds somewhat maniacal. “We _slept_ together, that’s what’s wrong!”

“Well, we didn’t _sleep_ together,” Natasha corrects. “I can vouch for that. But you _did_ kiss me. And we were naked. That was nice, by the way.”

Clint groans, putting his head in his hands. “Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” he mutters as Natasha moves closer, inching precariously along the rails.

“Is this about Laura? Because you love Laura.”

“I know,” Clint says miserably, closing his eyes. “I know, Nat, I know, I --”

“Shhh, okay.” Natasha heaves out a sigh. “Calm down, Clint. It’s okay.” She takes his hand and strokes the back of his palm gently, and he knows it’s a gesture that’s supposed to help him calm down, but he can’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

“What am I gonna do?” he asks after a moment and Natasha sighs again.

“You’re going to tell her, of course.”

“Tell her?” Clint swallows down bile, feeling sick. “ _How_? She’s going to throw me out.”

“Clint.” Natasha fixes him with a stare. “Look, I’ve known your wife for all of one month, and I basically met her while you were unconscious and bleeding out on your own floor. But I can’t imagine she’d be upset.”

“You don’t think she’d be _upset_?” Clint knows he looks utterly appalled. “Natasha, I’m _married_. I have a _kid_. Me and you, we kissed, we slept together while we were naked and it wasn’t me not consenting. I _wanted_ to, I practically initiated it, and... _fuck_ ,” he spits out, shaking again. Natasha runs her fingers down his arm.

“Laura doesn’t strike me as the type of woman that you’d love because she flips a lid when you tell her something serious,” Natasha points out. “You _love_ her, Clint. You wouldn’t just love anyone like that, not if you didn’t trust them enough to feel like they had your back in any situation.“

“This isn’t any situation,” Clint defends. “I’m not loyal. I'm a bad husband. I'm the same thing my parents accused each other of at one point.”

“ _Are_ you?” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You’re not cheating on Laura. You don’t want to leave her, or your son. You just want to feel intimate with someone else, and the way I see it, there’s nothing wrong with that. Especially if it’s someone who has not only already seen you naked, but who has saved your ass more than once.” She shrugs, putting their knees together. “For what it’s worth, I do, too.”

Clint glances up. “You do?” he asks and Natasha nods, a half-smile gracing her face.

“You make me feel safe...and I’ve never really felt like that with anyone, unless I knew they were assigned to keep me alive for someone else’s pleasure. I’m glad you let me stay last night. I needed it.”

Clint tries to smile, but he knows the expression comes out looking more like a grimace than anything else. “How do I tell her?” he asks quietly, and Natasha rubs his back.

“The way you would tell her any other serious thing. Alone, in your own house, when you’re both emotionally stable enough to handle it.” She says the last words pointedly, finding his eyes. “Don’t tell her now. Or next week. Wait until you go home again. See what she’s like, and see how Cooper is.”

“And in the meantime?” He looks out over the tops of rundown buildings. “You know I’m gonna feel guilty about this until the cows come home.”

“Charming,” Natasha mutters, bumping his knee. “You really _are_ from a farm. In the meantime, try to focus on work, and on me. Keep yourself busy and think about why you do this job. For her.” She brushes a hand against his jeans pocket, the place where he knows he keeps a folded picture of Cooper and Laura. “For him.”

Clint nods, swallowing down his emotions, and Natasha presses herself more tightly against his leg, her lips brushing against his cheek.

 

***

 

Three weeks after Clint and Natasha sort-of-kind-of sleep together for the first time, they find themselves undercover in D.C., albeit on separate missions. He finishes up his own job earlier than he's planned and he knows Natasha isn’t expecting him for at least another two days, but he ends up in her safe house anyway once he’s officially signed off on all his paperwork.

“This is new,” Natasha remarks as she opens the door, though Clint knows it’s not really new at all. They’re used to waiting up for each other and showing up unannounced -- it’s almost stranger sometimes if they _do_ call and tell each other they’re planning on coming.

“Got everything done ahead of schedule,” he says, reaching his hand towards the open beer sitting on the coffee table. He’s stretched out on the slightly small couch with his legs up on the armrests. Natasha deposits her gun on the table; he hears the dull thud of what he knows are probably her heavy boots and then silence.

“We can order in,” he calls out after another moment, and then Natasha is standing in front of him with her hair up in a ponytail, the top of her body wrapped in the aqua colored terrycloth sweatshirt he remembers her buying from a shop downtown on the first night of their respective missions.

“You call Laura today?”

“Today?” Clint inclines his head as Natasha shoves at his feet, moving them so she can sit down. “Not yet. Why?”

She shrugs. “I seem to remember her saying that she was hoping you’d call at least _once_ this trip.”

“Are you _lecturing_ me about how I treat my own wife?”

“I would never,” Natasha says mockingly, throwing him a small smile. It’s never easy to tell with Natasha whether or not she wants company when they’re supposed to be doing stuff apart, but she’s glad he came, Clint realizes, and he can tell by the way she lets her hand come to rest on his leg.

“Laura’s thinking of joining a playgroup for kids that are Cooper’s age,” Clint says after a moment. “I guess she thinks it might be nice to get him off the farm for a bit.”

Natasha nods, trailing her fingers across his knee. “Could be. He can do something else besides feed the chickens.”

“He likes feeding the chickens,” Clint says grumpily, even though he knows as well as Natasha does that they don’t have _that_ kind of farm. “But yeah, I guess there’s that whole well-adjusted thing, too.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Are you really going to argue with your wife when it comes to your own kid having social interaction?”

“Nope,” Clint shakes his head. “But, you know, playgroups lead to other things that are expensive, like soccer practices and summer camps, and _I’m_ the one that’s gotta pay for it.”

Natasha snorts. “You do realize that SHIELD’s comfortable salary, the one that you get thanks to killing people, is helping you pay for your kids’ well-being, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint says with a tight smile, because hearing the words makes him realize the truth that he sometimes forgets. “Yeah, it is.”

“Second of all,” Natasha continues, not giving him a chance to add to his response, “Laura works, too. She just doesn’t have the luxury of being funneled paychecks as often as us.”

Clint nods at that and Natasha squeezes his knee.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Clint hesitates. “You said before that if I told her about us -- about what we did -- that she’d still love me.” He takes a breath. “How can you be so sure?”

“We're still on that?”

“Can't you at least humor me?”

“That's what I do all the time, Barton.” She smiles. “Look, I like to think I know you pretty well by now, so believe me when I say I just _know_.” When he gives her another look, she groans.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised. You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you trust me?”

Clint nods again, and Natasha drags her fingers over his wrist.

“Okay. So, trust me when I tell you that I know it’ll be okay.” She gets up, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, I believe you said something about ordering in? I’m starving.”

Clint grabs for his phone, grateful to have the opportunity to do something else besides stare at a wall and wonder about the ways in which his life could go to hell, while Natasha returns to the kitchen, washing and drying dishes with a precision that makes Clint feel like he’s home.

 

***

 

Clint calls Laura at what he thinks might be the worst possible moment. Unfortunately, given that he’s only allowed pockets of available time to make calls when he’s working, he’s learned to stop feeling bad about his timing.

“Sorry. This is a bad time.” He pauses, hearing the crash and scream in the background, followed by another scream. “This is a really bad time, right?”

“It’s never a good time,” Laura says with a sigh. “Welcome to having a three-year-old. Who apparently won’t listen when you tell him he can’t have ice cream for dinner, because he's already had cookies at lunch.”

“Ugh, yeah.” Clint glances up to find Natasha cleaning her gun, her eyes straying to the other side of the rooftop they’re staking out. It’s quiet for now, their target isn’t set to make an appearance until closer to midnight, but they had both wanted to be in position early, anyway. “Look, tell him that he can’t have ice cream and that if he doesn’t listen to you, daddy won’t bring him home any presents.”

“Clinton Francis,” and Laura’s voice changes from stressed to appalled, “are you _bribing_ our son with the benefits of your job? That’s disgusting.”

“Hey.” Clint shrugs, even though he knows she can’t see it. “You do what you gotta do. I bribe _you_ with promising that you’ll get really good sex when I come home.”

“I can’t believe you,” Laura says but Clint can hear the smile bleeding through her annoyed tone. “Speaking of home, you’ll be back for Christmas, right?”

“Absolutely,” Clint says without skipping a beat. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Laura responds, and there's a hint of relief in her voice. “Mom and dad are already asking if we can come for dinner, which means with any luck, we won’t have to cook.”

“Oh good, praise the lord Jesus for grandma and grandpa Foster,” Clint mutters under his breath. Laura sighs.

“Tell Natasha I give her full permission to kick you for that comment, since I can’t at the moment.”

“Duly noted,” Clint responds, throwing Natasha a look, which she responds to with a questioning stare. He points to his shin, miming a hit, and Natasha grins and nods. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi while I had a chance. I'll let you get back to Coop."

"You're too kind," Laura responds sarcastically and Clint laughs, his heart filling with an emotion that makes him want to reach through the phone and kiss her endlessly.

"Love you to the moon and back.”

“That’s Cooper’s line,” Laura says a little suspiciously, and Clint smiles, thinking of the book he's been reading to his son almost every night since he was a baby.

“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to say it, anyway.”


	3. 2009: Part I

Laura’s used to Natasha calling when she’s in New York, or when she wants to say hi to Cooper on a birthday or special event, or when she’s warning Laura about the fact that Clint has taken off yet _again_ on another rogue assignment that promises to kick his ass.

Laura’s not used to Natasha calling when both she and Clint are supposed to be off the grid, in another country and time zone altogether.

“Red, or white?”

“What?” Laura’s thrown by both Natasha’s voice as well as the question, and in the time it takes her to put the knife in the sink and the can of peanut butter back in the cupboard, Natasha lets out a long, patented groan.

“Look, I don’t have all day -- red, or white?”

It takes Laura’s brain a moment more to realize what Natasha is asking, and she shoves the phone between her ear and her shoulder so that her hands are mostly free to bring Cooper his sandwich.

“Does Clint know you’re calling?”

“Of course not,” Natasha says brusquely, talking over what sounds like cars and motorcycles. “If he did, he’d probably be yelling at me for making some personal call to his wife without telling him. But he's not the boss of me. And I’m out right now and last time we talked, you told me that if I ever got back to Italy, I should get you some of that wine that you liked.”

“I did,” Laura says with a smile, both amused and touched that Natasha has filed away this particular bit of information, given that the conversation had happened more than a year ago. “How’s your trip?”

“Fine,” Natasha says curtly, and Laura knows that’s all she’s going to get out of her, at least until she comes home. At this point, Laura’s learned to take the word _fine_ and be okay with it, because at least it doesn’t include any mention of Natasha or Clint being injured in some way. “Hopefully, we’ll both be home within the next week.”

Laura lets out a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding. “Good,” she says, glancing up to find Cooper methodically trying to eat around his bread so that he can avoid the crust. It reminds her of the way Clint sometimes picks at his own food, and she blinks back a sudden wave of emotion.

“How are you holding up?”

“Me?” Laura tries to laugh. “Okay. The usual, I guess.”

“Laura Foster Barton.” Natasha’s voice drops into seriousness. “If you lie to me, I swear to god I’ll put this wine right back where it came from.”

Laura openly laughs at that, and she can almost see Natasha’s smirk on the other end of the phone. Trust Clint’s partner to make her laugh halfway across the world, in the same way that her husband could.

“Clint’s right, you know –- you _are_ a prison warden.”

“And you love me,” Natasha replies. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question."

Laura grins, letting her eyes find the wall. "Red," she decides and she hears the clink of bottles in the background.

“Excellent. See you when we’re home.” Natasha hangs up and when Laura takes the phone away from her ear, she realizes her entire face feels too warm.

“I do love you,” she says quietly to no one in particular as Cooper bangs his glass in the background, effectively forcing her out of her own thoughts.

 

***

 

Following Cooper's birthday, Natasha returns to New York ahead of Clint, who stays at the house to spend some quiet time with Cooper and Laura -- and although Clint’s a little sad to see her go, mostly because he enjoys having both of them around at the same time, he’s also craving alone time with his wife in a way he doesn’t realize until he’s crawling into bed and Laura is kissing him gently, her fingers lingering on his face.

“Where did you get that?” Laura asks curiously, motioning to Clint’s aqua zip-up sweatshirt when he comes in from the barn to take a break for lunch.

“This old thing?” Clint pulls at the sleeve. “Nat bought it during one of our undercover ops a few years ago, when we were posing as civilians in DC. Thought we needed to blend in a bit. Turns out, it’s also pretty good for workouts and stuff.”

“And house cleaning, apparently,” Laura says, kissing him as she wipes dirt from his chin. Clint smiles.

“And that. I’ll throw it in the wash, if you want.”

Laura nods as she finishes spooning mayonnaise onto some tuna fish, bringing the bowl to the table. “Tell Cooper to come down, too. His lunch is ready.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clint goes upstairs and drops the sweatshirt on the bed, and then changes into a long sleeved flannel top. He finds Cooper holed up in his room, plucking out notes on his new guitar, and after a healthy amount of cajoling he manages to tear his son away long enough to eat.

“Nat and daddy give the best gifts,” Cooper decides as he bites into his food, and Laura reaches over to smooth his hair down.

“And what does _mommy_ say about those gifts?”

Cooper swallows tuna fish and stares up at Laura, squinting, as if he’s trying to see if he can remember what he’s _supposed_ to say. “No guitar playing at night.”

“And when mommy’s napping or working,” Laura adds and Cooper looks up again.

“Daddy’s leaving again soon, isn’t he?” His voice sounds suspicious, and a little sad. “That’s why we’re all eating together, right? Cause usually, it’s just me and mommy on the porch.”

Clint tries to ignore the stab of pain that pierces his heart at his son's words, and he sees Laura bite her lip out of the corner of her eye.

“Only for a little while,” Clint admits and when Cooper’s face falls slightly, Clint reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“Hey, Coop. After lunch, let’s show off that new song you worked on, yeah? Mommy wants to hear it. And then maybe we can send a video to Nat...she’s been asking about you every day since she left. I think she misses you.”

Cooper smiles wide, digging back into his lunch, his sadness seemingly forgotten. Laura leans back in her chair, blinking back tears, and squeezes Clint’s hand under the table.

 

***

 

Laura’s mood turns sour the day before Clint’s set to leave again.

He realizes something’s not right when she shrugs off morning sex, which isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, considering her pregnancy. But after they do get up and attend to the rituals of getting their son fed, clothed and otherwise occupied, Laura spends the day short-tempered and considerably volatile, snapping at Clint when he steps on her toe by accident, and when he bumps into her in the kitchen while on his way to grab orange juice. It’s almost a relief when they have to distract themselves from the tension they’re both refusing to address by working together to get Cooper ready for bed, Clint coaxing him away from where he’s intricately putting together the bare bones of an Erector set by promising that they can read together from his newest book.

Cooper’s eyes light up as Clint talks. “An’ then are you going to tell me about the time you fought Godzilla?”

“He did not fight Godzilla,” Laura says with a sigh as she hands Cooper his stuffed bear. “Bed, Coop. Dad will be up in a few minutes.”

“And if you get changed and brush your teeth, I _will_ tell you about the time I fought Godzilla,” Clint adds as Laura shoots him a glare.

“Keep this up and he’ll think you fight aliens and monsters instead of regular people,” Laura mutters while Cooper climbs the stairs. Clint shrugs, picking up a toy truck that’s fallen over and bending down to clean up the rest of Cooper’s abandoned creation.

“I’m not lying, the man’s code name was Godzilla.”

“ _He_ doesn’t know that.”

“So what?”

Laura ignores him, walking to the kitchen, picking up stray articles of clothing from the couch along the way. Clint follows slowly.

“You wanna talk?”

Laura keeps busying herself by putting dishes in the cabinet, until she finally turns around, putting her hands on her hips. “About what?”

“You tell me,” Clint counters, leaning against the archway. “You’ve been on edge all day, and I know it’s not because of our son. So what’s up?”

Laura stares at him for a long time and then moves to the table, putting her head in her hands.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

Clint feels his heart jump into his throat. “Is this about Natasha? About our relationship? Because fuck, Laura, I don’t have to screw Natasha --”

“Clint, it’s not about Natasha,” Laura says sharply, raising her head, and he notices that her eyes are too bright. “It’s about _you_.”

“Me.” Clint sits down and leans back in the chair. “What the hell does that mean?” He has a sinking suspicion that he already knows, but figures he owes it to her to tell him.

“It means that I can’t do this. It means that I can’t sit around hoping that you come back home, hoping that you don’t walk through that door full of bullets, hoping that I don’t have to give that rehearsed speech about what happened to you.” Her voice breaks on the last sentence and Clint reaches out, but Laura pulls her hand away.

“Laura, I...I do come home,” he protests lamely because he’s not sure how to respond, and Laura makes a noise in the back of her throat.

“And half the time you’ve also almost died! Do you have any idea how it feels, knowing that one day, I might have to explain to my unborn child why she doesn’t have a father?”

Clint breathes through the frustration and panic that he feels rising up at her words. “So, what? The only decent thing I’ve ever done with my life, the only thing I’m good at, you want me to quit it? You want me to go back to being a bartender in a run-down shithole of a town where no one cares?” He hates that he’s fighting anger with anger, because it’s his least favorite way to spiral through an argument, but he’s also too annoyed to care. Laura stares at him for a long time, shaking her head.

“No,” she says, her voice softening. “I don’t want you to quit, Clint, I’d never ask you to do that. I know you love this job. I know you're happy. I just...I want you to be _safe_.”

Clint bows his head, clasping his hands behind his neck. “I can’t promise that, and you know it,” he says quietly. “I can’t promise I’ll be safe. I can only promise that I’ll come home. Somehow.”

Laura clenches her jaw. “That’s not good enough,” she says roughly and Clint gets up, walking to the other side of the table, pulling her up by the arm.

“It’s gotta be.” He runs his fingers through her hair and Laura suddenly grabs him tightly, shuddering in his grasp. “Laura, it’s gotta be.”

She takes a slow breath, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in her hands. “I need...I need Natasha to keep you safe.”

“She does,” Clint murmurs, kissing her head, feeling the anger bleed out of both of them the longer they touch each other. “All the time. Every single second. She’s...she’s like my second bullet-proof vest.”

“You don’t have a first one,” Laura manages through the start of tears and Clint can’t help but smile as he hugs her again.

“Laura Barton, look at me. _Look at me_.” He waits until she’s lifted her tear-stained face, meeting his eyes. “I love you. I love you, and I will _always_ come home to you. You will always be the project I keep unfinished, because I'm never going to be done coming home to you. I promise.”

Laura holds his gaze, and then nods slowly. “I hate this,” she whispers and Clint's heart shatters into pieces.

“I know...I know.” He puts two hands against her face and pulls her close, kissing her gently. “I do, too.” Shifting his head so that his chin rests on her scalp, he feels Laura press her cheek into his chest, and he moves his hand down her back, rubbing her back.

“Hey, come on. It’s my last night here...we should make the most of it.”

Laura shakes her head as she draws herself away from his body. “I love you, but I don’t feel like sex,” she says morosely and Clint kisses her again.

“I didn’t say we were going to have sex. Let me say goodnight to Coop and then I'll come back." He steps away, walking towards the stairs, and finds his son waiting expectantly, sitting up in bed with a book on his lap.

"I brushed my teeth."

"I can tell," Clint says, raising an eyebrow and hiding a laugh as Cooper bares his teeth, showing off a white smile with dried toothpaste still stuck to his chin. He takes a Kleenex from the bedside table and wipes his son's face. "But let's save Godzilla for another night, okay?"

Cooper's face falls just enough for Clint to feel bad, but then he's holding out his book and Clint smiles.

"Chapter three, huh?" he asks as he climbs in next to Cooper, who settles his head on Clint's chest. Clint strokes his hair with one hand and they alternate reading each page, Clint helping his son stumble over the bigger words in the book technically made for ages ten and up, until Clint dog ears a page halfway through the chapter.

"And with that, daddy is putting you to bed for real," Clint says, getting up and kissing him goodnight while putting the book on the nightstand. Cooper looks like he wants to protest, but he also looks exhausted, and doesn't bother to argue as he burrows into the covers. Clint closes the door, returning downstairs to find that Laura hasn't moved from the kitchen.

"Come on,” he says as he holds out his hands, leading her through the living room, until they reach the front door.

“Cooper’s asleep,” Laura mutters as Clint puts his hand on the doorknob, and he shrugs.

“He’s six, and I’m pretty sure he can sleep alone without killing himself while his parents take a walk for a few minutes.”

“He’s your son,” Laura answers sarcastically but she follows him anyway, checking the lock before shutting the door behind her. Clint helps her down the stairs and across the lawn, until they reach the large oak tree near the base of the yard.

“If I had time, I would’ve made this like that dinner you had for me when we started dating,” Clint says, helping her sit down. “All your favorite foods, all the nice stuff, maybe I would've found one of those parks with cliffs...we kind of fought before I had a chance to think about any of that.”

Laura looks down, and Clint can tell she feels guilty. “Sorry,” she whispers, and Clint shakes his head.

“Nah. Don’t be. It's not your fault.” He puts an arm around her, drawing her close. “Like I said, I don’t have anything to mirror that, but I hope this works.”

Laura opens her mouth but before she can speak, Clint turns his head, kissing her gently. “Don’t ask,” he says softly, breaking away so he can talk. “Just trust me, okay?”

Laura nods, and now that their faces are pressed closely together, Clint can see the tears that he realizes have never fully stopped. It’s not that quiet time has been hard to come by lately, though most of his time at home is normally spent eating, sleeping, or spending time with Cooper. But as he continues to kiss her, Clint realizes that he can’t remember the last time they both had a moment to breathe, to be away from their thoughts, to be away from their stress, to be alone with each other and recognize what it meant to have each other _home_.

Laura gets it, he knows, when she stops pulling away and lets herself kiss him back fully, her body pressed close. In the same way that he knows they’ve never needed anything more than simple gestures to express themselves, they’ve also never needed anything more than that to talk about their feelings, either. Time slows and then stops as they explore each other’s mouths and bodies, the cool spring winds washing over them, enveloping them in a blanket of comfort as the world shrinks around them.

 

***

 

The phone rings when Laura’s in the middle of packing sandwiches and water bottles for Cooper’s soccer practice, and she picks it up with a smile.

“Hey, you.” Laura sticks the phone in between her ear and her shoulder, grabbing for a plastic bag. “How’s Prague?”

“Rainy,” says Clint, and it sounds like he’s speaking from far away. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Laura responds wistfully. “You should come home.”

“Trying to. These guys aren’t being entirely cooperative with us. Nat says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” Laura says, something warm settling in her bones at the mention of Natasha's name. She moves to the pile of laundry sitting on the couch, sifting through the basket until she comes away with a small shirt and a pair of mesh shorts.

“How’s Coop?”

“About to leave for practice. If he ever gets himself moving,” Laura adds. “Cooper! Come downstairs and get changed, you’re going to be late!”

“Ah, parenting at its finest.”

“For now. When you come home, _you_ get to do the soccer practices and the treasure hunts while I sit on the couch and drink.”

Clint laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Laura half-grins as Cooper tears down the steps, and Laura hands her son his clothes, pushing him back towards his room.

“By the way, you left your sweatshirt here. Want me to send it to New York?” There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before Clint speaks again.

“Nah. You can keep it.”

“You sure?” Laura picks it up, examining it closely. Despite the wash, it’s as soft as anything, and it smells not only like Clint but, Laura thinks, like Natasha as well. She sets the phone on the couch and then puts it on without thinking.

“Nat doesn’t want it?” Laura asks when she picks up the phone again.

“Eh.” Clint sounds suddenly distracted. “She’s got loads of sweatshirts. I don’t think she’ll miss the one that’s literally been around the country at this point. Besides you might need something to wear to the hospital. And it gets colder there than it does here, or back in New York.”

Laura pulls at the zipper, and she can’t help but smile. “Fine. But I’m only holding it hostage until you guys come home, and then you can take it back.”

“Communal sweatshirt, then,” agrees Clint. “Sounds like a deal.” Laura smiles again as Cooper thunders back down the stairs.

“Say hi to daddy, and then get in the car,” she says, pushing the phone into his hand and heading to the kitchen.

“Daddy, do you have time to go to the pool on vacation?”

Laura bites back a laugh as she grabs a bag of food and her car keys, returning just in time to hear Clint’s response, loud over the phone.

“I have a lot of time to play, but no time to swim, kiddo.”

“Daddy doesn’t have that kind of job,” Laura says as she takes the phone away, and Cooper frowns, staring up at her.

“What kind of job does daddy have?”

Laura hears the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and she doesn’t have to ask if Clint’s heard the question. She falls silent, unsure of how to respond, because it’s the first time that her son has bothered to specifically question his father’s absence.

“Put me on speaker,” Clint says suddenly, and Laura feels her insides start to churn.

“Clint --”

“Laura, do it.”

Cooper’s still staring at her expectantly and Laura recognizes the look of impatience, knowing that dodging the question will only make things worse for all of them. She says a silent prayer as she hits a button on the phone.

“Hey, Coop.” Clint’s voice sounds overly cheerful. “We talked about this, remember? What daddy’s job is? You know already.”

“Daddy works for a company that saves people. He’s like a police officer,” Cooper says automatically, and Laura feels herself relax slightly.

“That’s right.”

“Except instead of driving a police car, you fight animals like Godzilla.”

“Also right,” Clint adds and Laura suppresses a groan, making a mental note to remind Clint not to tell any more mission stories at bedtime, because she knows _that’s_ not going away anytime soon.

“I can see it now,” Laura says under her breath after she takes the phone off speaker. “My child’s going to be sent home from school because he’s telling everyone tall tales about how his dad fights a giant lizard.”

“Hey, whatever works,” Clint says and Laura rolls her eyes, raising her voice and hitting a button on her keys.

“Cooper, get in the car, okay? I’ll be out in a minute.” She waits until her son has closed the door behind him before letting herself sag against the couch. “Thank you. I thought that for a moment --”

“Really?” Clint interrupts with a snort. “Laura, if you thought for a second that I was going to tell my son I'm an assassin who runs around shooting a bow and arrow for a living, you’re insane.”

Laura smiles to herself as she puts on her shoes. “He’s not exactly five years old anymore,” she murmurs. “He’ll find out one day, whether it’s the news or you coming home with an injury while he’s in the house. And we won’t be able to lie about it.”

“He’ll find out when he needs to,” Clint responds seriously. “And then we’ll sit him down and tell him everything, and explain it in a way that he can understand. But if he can keep thinking that his dad is some superhero fighting crime, that’s good enough for now.”

Laura closes her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint answers. “Be home soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Laura hits the button on the phone and stands in silence for a moment longer, before opening the door and walking towards the car.


	4. 2012: Part I

On the first day that the temperature gets just above fifty degrees, Laura spends the day with her parents in town and Clint, with Natasha's help, outfits both Cooper and Lila in sweaters and socks and shoes before sending them outside to play on the front lawn.

“God help me, I never want my children to know what this song _actually_ means,” he mutters as the  _ring around the rosy_ chant fills his ears on repeat. Natasha smiles, leaning into him comfortably.

“I can always educate them, if you want.”

Clint shoots her a look. “Don’t you dare,” he warns sharply and she smiles wider, putting a hand on his arm.

“Relax, Barton.”

He does relax, at least enough to watch Lila fall to the ground twice in succession without feeling too worried about it. Cooper helps her up each time but on the third fall, she goes down hard, and even though her brother still reaches for her, Clint sees the cry coming before he has a chance to move.

“Oh, baby.” He leans over and picks her up, securing her in his arms, and at his touch, his daughter’s face crumples even more.

“Fell down.”

“Yeah, I know.” Clint wipes dirt from her cheek. “Daddy falls down a lot, too. It's okay. Let’s get you inside and get you cleaned up, okay?”

Natasha stays with Cooper and Clint helps Lila wash the dirt off her hands and feet, changing her clothes for the second time before sending her back outside. By the time Laura returns, the only evidence of anything having gone remotely wrong is the angry red skin on Lila’s knees and her messy, knotted hair.

“Which one of our children do I need to yell at?” Laura asks mildly as she approaches Clint and Natasha, and Clint laughs under his breath.

“For once, neither of them. Just Lila picking up her dad’s habit of not being able to stand up straight.”

“Oh, is that all?” Laura kisses Natasha on the cheek before turning her attention to Clint. “I thought I was going to come home to at _least_ one nosebleed and one argument.”

“That was last week,” Clint reminds her tiredly as he leans in to hug her, and he feels Laura sigh against his skin, a warm breeze that filters across his neck.

“What’s wrong?”

“Five hours with my parents is five hours too long,” she admits as she untangles herself from Clint’s arms. “I would’ve much rather been here spending time with you.”

“Aw, Nat, she missed us.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “I missed my kids more.”

“I take it back, we’re only good when we’re ten or under.”

“Children can’t have sex,” Natasha remarks with a wink as Lila runs up to hug her mother, flinging her arms around her legs.

“Mommy! Aun...Nat says I can wear new clothes tonight!”

Laura turns to Natasha with an eyebrow raise, and she winces.

“I...may have told her she could wear her dress to bed to get her to stop crying. Sorry,” she apologizes after a beat. Clint hides a smile as Laura’s eyebrow continues to lift, because he knows that in theory, Laura would _like_ to be mad at Natasha. But he also knows that there’s really no way she could _stay_ angry at her. The fact that Natasha was doing any kind of parenting at all was more than either of them had expected or asked for.

“How are you doing?” Laura asks as Lila runs back towards Cooper, dropping her voice even though Clint knows she doesn’t really need to.

“Okay,” Clint responds, and he watches Laura move her gaze to Natasha. “Laura, seriously. I was okay.”

“He was,” Natasha adds. “I promise. I wouldn't lie, Laura.”

Laura nods. “Good,” she says quietly as Lila runs back up to the three adults.

“Now...now that you’re home, daddy said I could show you my song.”

Laura forces out a smile as Natasha bends down, brightening her tone, and for a moment, Clint thinks maybe everything has returned to normal again. “Show us your song,” she says as Lila starts to both yell and sing at the same time, and Laura slips her hand into Clint’s palm.

 

***

 

Laura finds Natasha in the bathroom, reaching for the handle of the shower, and walks inside before she can stop herself.

“You want company?” she asks, and Natasha smiles gratefully as Laura closes the door behind her.

“You have to ask?”

“I _always_ have to ask.” Laura starts removing her clothes. “Like I tell my kids, assuming makes an ass out of you and me.”

“You really are a mother,” Natasha grumbles, stepping into the shower and under the spray. Laura finishes undressing and gives her a moment to get situated before joining her, putting her hands on the other woman’s shoulders as she stands face-first against the water, rubbing her muscles gently.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Feels good,” Natasha breathes, and Laura can feel the tension being released from the knots that she’s working through. “Thank you.”

Laura smiles, moving her hands further down her back, and Natasha flinches suddenly.

“Bruise,” she says, shifting in Laura’s grasp as Laura moves her hands to her waist, holding her steady. “Right ankle is twisted, collarbone is sore, hairline fractures along both my wrists.”

“Okay,” Laura says softly, lessening the pressure on Natasha’s skin as she works her way up her shoulders again. She'd seen the immediate aftermath of Natasha's injuries when she had come to the hospital after New York, but she hadn't realized after so many weeks, there were still things that she needed to heal from, too. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

Natasha snorts quietly. “I can’t remember the last time someone was gentle with me,” and she seems to shake a little as she says the words. Laura notices, but elects not to say anything.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I have a lot of experience with knowing how to touch people who are injured,” Laura replies lightly, leaning down to kiss the orange and purple scattered along Natasha’s skin. She turns the other girl around slowly, smoothing wet hair back from where the red strands have plastered themselves to her forehead.

“What happened, Nat?”

Natasha swallows, opening her mouth, letting rivulets of water run past her lips. “You know."

Laura shakes her head. "I only know a little bit," she says, trying not to sound too bitter about her words. "You...you never told me exactly what happened. How you got him back."

Natasha shifts her gaze to the ground, water cascading down her head and onto the silver bathmat. "I had to get him back,” she says softly. “It was...we fought.”

“You always fight,” Laura says gently, and Natasha shakes her head.

“Not like this,” she whispers. “He was going to kill me, Laura. I could’ve killed him. Everything I did...I’ve never fought anyone like that if it wasn’t to the death. The only reason I didn’t kill him was because we know each other well enough that I know how to fight him, even when he’s compromised. I _know_ how he’ll fight me. I had an advantage.”

Laura feels her chest seize up as Natasha finishes talking, because she’d known about the mind control -- she’d seen the nightmares and she'd even known enough to be aware of what had happened afterwards, of how Clint had felt having someone else in his head -- but Clint had never told her every single detail. All she knew about his reunion with Natasha during the battle was that his partner had physically fought in _some_ way to get him back, and she had been so grateful about that, that she hadn’t thought to press Natasha for anything else, too focused on Clint's recovery after he had finally come home.

“He’s safe,” Laura says, opening her arms as Natasha steps forward carefully, making sure not to slip. She folds against Laura, who runs her hands over Natasha’s spine. “He’s safe, and you’re safe, and we’re all recovering together. Okay?”

Natasha nods, pulling away and pressing a kiss to Laura’s collarbone. “You’re not hurt.”

Laura smiles slowly. “No,” she says. “I’m not. You can kiss me anywhere.”

Natasha puts her hands on Laura’s breasts, letting her fingers drag over the skin, while pulling the other girl closer.

“I love you,” she murmurs into Laura’s skin, and Laura thinks it’s the first time she’s heard her so openly admit her emotions.

“I know,” she says, kissing her back. “I do, too.”

 

***

 

“Laura.”

She’s not dreaming, really, because she doesn’t have many dreams. But she also knows she’s not awake, and there’s darkness, and the quiet, familiar voice filtering through her senses makes her stomach start to curl.

“Laura,” the voice says again and she moans, opening her eyes, the fire in her belly quenched by the sight of Natasha’s face, which, Laura can see despite the dark, is harboring all the wrong emotions of someone who is whispering her name so gently.

“What’s wrong?” She immediately jerks upright in bed. The more she stares at Natasha, her vision clearing as she snaps into consciousness, the more she realizes she knows that stare, that look, and what it potentially means.

“Come with me,” Natasha says quietly, dragging the covers off her body. “I need you.”

“Natasha --” Laura stops as Natasha leaves the room and puts on her slippers, her stomach now filled with a mixture of anxiety and dread.

“Come with me,” Natasha repeats when Laura finally makes it out of the bedroom. She’s standing at the top of the stairs and Laura follows her down, taking special care to go slower in the dark.

It takes her eyes a few moments to adjust in the dim light, and when they do, she sees Clint sitting at the kitchen table, one arm stretched out in front of him. He’s leaning back in the chair, his spine relaxed, but Laura can see the way his veins are protruding from his arms, indicating he’s extra tensed. Upon further inspection, Laura can also see the stark white bandage stretching over his knuckles, dotted by spots of fresh blood.

“I slipped,” Clint says in a low monotone as Laura moves in front of him, and a chill runs down her spine.

“What do you mean, you slipped?” She tries to keep her voice steady, knowing the various implications of what those words could mean, trying to convince herself that if he was sitting here and Natasha wasn’t running for medical supplies, it couldn’t be anything too terrible.

“I found him outside,” Natasha breaks in. “By the big tree.”

The blood on the back of his hands and the ragged, half-awake look finally makes sense as Laura lets Natasha’s words sink in, and she finds herself wondering how long he had been out there, smashing his fist against the hard bark of the tree, tearing up his own skin before Natasha arrived.

“Clint,” she starts quietly, looking over at Natasha, who nods slowly. She moves closer, brushing a hand against his hair. “So you slipped. It happens.”

“It _shouldn’t_ have happened,” Clint says bitterly. "Not here. Not now."

Natasha slides into the kitchen chair, looking at him with an expression that’s half sympathetic and half frustrated. “Clint. Come on. You know this is part of the recovery. Sometimes, you slip.” She pauses. “You gotta work with me, okay?”

He doesn’t answer, instead averting his eyes before his neck snaps up, as if he’s suddenly found a way to get his brain working again.

“Are the kids…”

“They’re fine,” Natasha interrupts. “I checked. They’re asleep, no one woke up. I woke up Laura for you.”

That seems to soothe him a little, Laura can tell, but it doesn’t erase the pain from behind his eyes, the one Laura knows is coming from more than just the injuries on his hand.

“I keep thinking...what if this happens when I’m with _them_.” He swallows. “What if I’m home alone and one day I can’t control it or recognize when it’s coming. What if I just... _snap_. And then it's Lila's face that I'm hitting instead of the tree. Or Cooper's arm that I'm twisting, and not a blanket.”

Laura swallows down the urge to throw up because she wants to say so many things, and she knows she’s not authoritative enough to speak on any of them. That’s Natasha’s forte, because for all that Laura could soothe away the nightmares and give Clint the hope and comfort that he was still hers -- that he was still the father that everyone loved, the man that Laura had first fallen in love with at the bar all those years ago -- there are experiences that she can’t speak for, because she’s never had them herself.

But Natasha has.

“You haven’t done that yet,” Natasha says gently, smoothing his hair back. “Even before I got here, you kept everything to yourself. Your violence was contained. Your kids might have noticed you were a little drawn back, but no one thought you were a monster.” Laura hears the way Natasha’s voice steadies itself and suddenly she wants to reach out, take both of the people she loves into her arms and hold them there forever, away from the nightmares and demons of their pasts, the ones that she knows will continue to haunt them for the rest of their lives.

“I’m making tea,” Laura decides, mostly because she feels like she needs to do something to keep herself distracted, and she knows none of them are liable to go back to sleep anytime soon. Clint tries to smile.

“No coffee?”

Laura sighs. “Clint, you and I can drink coffee until we die, no matter what time of day it is. But it’s two in the morning and I’m not going to have the kids wake up thinking it’s seven when they smell something.”

He frowns and then nods. “Fine,” he relents as Laura fills a kettle, bracing herself against the counter as she stares at the stove, losing herself in mindless rushes of thoughts until two hands slip around her waist, pulling her back onto a strong, broad chest.

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmurs into her hair, and she jerks against the bandage that scrapes against her bare skin when her shirt starts to ride up. “I hate this. I hate...I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be scared of the kids, of myself." He pauses. "I know that I worry you.”

“You do,” Laura admits, turning around. “A lot. But, Clint...you're home, and you're safe and you're alive. And I love you too much to be angry about the things that happened and the things you can't control.”

“Funny,” Natasha says, joining them. She stands next to Clint and leans into his side. “I feel the same way.”

Laura smiles, but it’s an expression that feels too watery, and too unstable. Natasha reaches out and closes a hand around Laura’s wrist.

“It takes time,” Natasha says seriously. “You know that, Clint. That's why I stayed away, at first. Because it takes time and you needed to regroup." She kisses his arm, pressing up against him. "But it’s easier when you have people to help you.”

Clint nods, hugging both of them more tightly as the kettle starts to whistle softly. Natasha reaches over to turn off the stove, taking three mugs out of the drying rack.

“We’re all a mess,” Laura says bitterly and Natasha shrugs, pouring tea.

“We are,” she admits, handing Laura and Clint their cups. “But we still love each other, right?” Natasha smiles faintly as she takes a sip of tea, and Laura almost laughs at the situation that's become her life -- things like mind control and nightmares, things like sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night to make tea and soothe fears of abusive recovery, things like loving her husband and the woman who has saved him and their family ten thousand times over, because she loves them right back and would do anything to keep them together.

“Yeah,” she says, looking at Clint, and suddenly she thinks she's never going to love the two people in the room more than she does in this moment. “We do.”


	5. 2008: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the mega talented [nathanielbarton](nathanielbarton.tumblr.com) for making [this amazing gifset](http://nathanielbarton.tumblr.com/post/130809170285/til-the-clocks-run-down-chapter-5-by)!

The first Thursday of September starts as the kind of morning that Laura loves.

The air is edging towards fall-like, breezy but not overly cold, with a hint of crisp that Laura finds refreshing, the kind of chilled air that makes goosebumps rise along her arms when she steps outside to check on the garden or the mail. It’s a day to open windows, air out the house, and, Laura thinks, maybe a day where she can finally make apple cider with Cooper, since she had been forgetting to squeeze time into her day for that particular luxury.

She’s just settled her son with a late breakfast and is scrubbing leftover pancake batter and chocolate chips from the bottom of the pan, debating whether or not she wants to start peeling the apples, when the house phone rings.

“I wanna answer!” Cooper looks up at the sound, grinning, and Laura smiles gently.

“Let mommy take this call,” she responds, wiping her hands on her jeans, not bothering to care that she’s leaving tan and brown streaks across the front of her thighs. She’s due for a load of wash, anyway.

“But what if it’s daddy?”

“If it’s daddy, I’ll let you talk,” Laura assures him, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello,” returns a perfunctory voice, and everything about the tone is cold and distant and clipped. “Is this the residence of Mrs. Laura Barton?”

Laura’s mouth is instantly filled with sandpaper and her vision shrinks to a world of black. When she can finally see again, a pinprick of light peeking through the hazy darkness, she feels like she’s standing across the room and staring at her own body, watching herself react from a distance.

“It is,” she manages, clutching the phone tighter. “Who’s calling?”

“This is SHIELD special service, ma’am. We have an Agent Clint Barton on the line, requesting a call to be put through.”

Laura exhales in a long, ragged breath, and thinks for a moment she might throw up all over the kitchen floor. _He’s okay_ , she tells herself as she swallows down the nausea and her heart picks up in overtime, making her dizzy. _He’s safe, he’s okay_. She doesn’t consider herself _that_ knowledgeable about all of the things in Clint’s world, but she has enough understanding to know he wouldn’t be the one calling if he was in trouble -- SHIELD themselves would have taken care of that. Or Natasha would have.

 _Or Natasha would have_. The feeling of relief that had taken over at the realization that Clint was okay is suddenly back with a vengeance, and she feels sick all over again.

“Ma’am. Do we have permission to put Agent Barton through?”

Laura swallows, trying to find her voice. “Yes, of course,” she allows quietly, and then there’s silence, and a click.

“Laura.”

“Clint, what happened?” She drops her voice to a quiet hiss as Cooper munches away at his pancake, and doesn’t bother wondering if her gut instinct is wrong because she’s almost sure it isn’t. The way Clint’s words start to waver all but confirms her suspicions.

“Natasha. She’s -- I’m -- we’re at the hospital now.”

Laura tries to understand his sentence, tries to push out of her mind the reason behind _why_ Clint would call her about this in the first place, when she knows these kind of situations -- getting beat up and blown up and thrown into a hospital bed -- happen all the time, usually never requiring more than a belated apology.

“What’s wrong?” She focuses on keeping her own voice steady, because she knows that’s what he needs. Despite her own worry, it won’t do either of them any good if they’re both panicking, and she can tell Clint’s clearly in no state to find a sense of calm at the moment.

“I don’t know. They’re sending her in for surgery and I’m alone. I don't...Laura, I --”

“I’m on my way,” Laura interrupts before he can continue, not giving him a chance to respond. “Stay where you are. I’ll call you when I’m at the airport.” She hangs up the phone, staring at the mess in the kitchen sink, the already forgotten apples in the fruit basket, finally settling on Cooper's face. Her son is looking at her, an achingly innocent grin plastered over his face.

“Was that daddy?”

Laura hesitates, wondering when in this kind of life it becomes an acceptable time to lie to your own child. “Just someone daddy works with,” she says finally, and Cooper shrugs, apparently satiated with the response.

“Oh. Okay.” He takes another bite of his pancake and looks up again. “Are we gonna make cider today, like you promised?”

Laura gives him a tight smile, hating everything about this moment.

“You know what, Coop?” She channels her voice into a too cheerful register. “Change of plans. Mommy’s gotta go to work for a bit, so you’re going to spend some time with grandma and grandpa, instead.”

Cooper makes a face that Laura swears he must have picked up from Clint. “But I wanna make cider with you,” he protests, looking forlorn. Laura inhales deeply, forcing herself to keep her own emotions under a lid, ignoring the admonishment on her tongue that would normally follow Cooper speaking with his mouth full.

“I know, baby. It’s the first thing we’ll do together when I come home, okay? I promise.”

Cooper looks disappointed but nods slowly, swinging his legs against the kitchen chair. “K,” he agrees sullenly, picking up his fork again, and Laura moves until she can rest her back against the counter, grateful to have something to steady her.

“Finish your breakfast,” she says, trying to keep her mind off of everything else that she knows is happening, the things that she’s not there to see and the things she doesn't quite know. “After you're done, we’ll get ready to leave.” 

Cooper continues to eat in silence while Laura pours herself another cup of coffee and then joins him at the table, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You know mommy loves you?” Laura asks quietly because suddenly, she feels like she needs him to realize it. “A lot?”

Cooper shoves his plate across the table. “I know.” He looks up from underneath a mop of overgrown hair and then gets up from his seat and circles two arms around her neck. It’s a move that catches Laura off guard, not because Cooper has yet to grow out of his "clingy" stage, but because she’d honestly been worried that he was too upset with the random change of events to reciprocate in any way. “I love you, too, mommy.”

It won't be enough one day, Laura knows, to rely on the simple forgiveness and innocence that comes with being a child. But as she hugs him back, fighting off tears, she finds herself feeling thankful that there's still some shred of naivety holding on somewhere inside of him, the part of his soul that allows him to be her easygoing little boy for just a tiny bit longer.

 

***

 

Roughly an hour later, Laura has apologetically passed Cooper off to her parents, who are so delighted about being able to spend an extended amount of time with their grandson that they don’t even bother to question the need for Laura’s sudden absence, or wonder why Clint can’t come home. She manages to squeeze into the last standby seat on the next outgoing direct flight to New York which she almost counts as a miracle in of itself, and is in a cab towards Manhattan before she checks her voicemail, with Clint telling her that when she lands, she should come to the SHIELD medical building downtown. An hour after that, with some fumbled directions via Clint’s texts, Laura is walking rather uncertainly into a nondescript building filled with uniformed personnel, nurses walking around in scrubs and orderlies roaming the halls.

“Clint.”

A few wrong turns later, she finds him sitting in one of the hard chairs of what she assumes has to be a waiting room, his head in his hands, shoulders slumped. He’s still in his uniform, which is dirty and ripped, and Laura’s not even sure she’s heard him until he lifts his head, meeting her eyes. One look is all it takes for her to know he’s far from okay and she immediately pulls him into a hug as she sinks down into the seat next to him.

“Hey, what happened? Talk to me. I'm here.”

Clint swallows, pushing away. “GSW that penetrated her chest wall and damaged her left lung, no exit wound, BP kept dropping and they put an endotracheal tube in to help her breathe but she kept going into shock because of the oxygen content in her lungs --”

“Clint. _Clint_.” Laura puts both hands on the side of his face, drawing his eyes towards her. “Take a deep breath. It’s _me_. I’m not SHIELD.” She watches him focus, the color draining from his cheeks, his lips going slack as he stares into her eyes, his breathing starting to even out.

“She was shot in the chest by one of the guys we were chasing," Clint says slowly. “Wasn’t wearing her vest, so the bullet just went right through, and stayed in there. Collapsed her lung and...she went into shock before I could do anything.” He stops, shuddering. “They took her right to surgery. They couldn’t tell me what else was wrong. They couldn’t tell me how bad it was without looking at it.”

“Okay,” Laura says softly because she’s not exactly sure how to respond. The whole situation is making her head spin and it’s obvious that Clint is still shaken up -- which, Laura surmises, means there’s probably more to this than Natasha getting hurt, however badly. It’s nowhere near the right time to ask about that, however, and so Laura settles for silence, pushing her thumb over his wrist as an offer of comfort: a reminder that she’s here with him, when she so often isn’t.

“Agent Barton.”

Laura looks up as a bespectacled man in a white coat approaches, and Clint nearly falls over while leaping to his feet. Laura rises more cautiously and takes his hand.

“We repaired the damage to Agent Romanoff’s lung and removed the bullet. We also had to remove part of her lower lobe due to the severity of her injury, and there was a lot of internal bleeding. But, we managed to get most of it under control.” He takes a breath. “I think it’s safe to say that if you hadn’t gotten her here when you did, the damage would have been much worse. And possibly, irreversible.”

Clint nods slowly, and Laura swears she can hear him swallowing down something that sounds like a cry. “So...so she’s okay?”

“For now.” The doctor pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’ve moved her to the ICU and currently have her on a ventilator, but the good news is, she’s stable and expected to wake up. The next forty-eight hours are going to be touch-and-go, so in the meantime, I’d suggest going home and getting some rest while you can.”

Laura feels Clint squeeze her palm harder and returns the sentiment, her fingers clutching his tightly.

“You know the drill, agent. We’ll call you if anything changes.” He turns and starts to walk away, leaving Clint and Laura standing alone in the hallway, amidst the crowd of uniformed individuals that weave in and out of their vision.

“Clint,” Laura says, because she can already see the decision written all over his face. “Let’s go home.”

Clint shakes his head firmly, staring straight ahead. “I want to be here when she wakes up.”

“Which won’t be for _at least_  twenty-four hours,” Laura argues gently. “And I’m not about to have you sit in a hospital chair all night when there’s nothing you can do. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Clint doesn’t answer, and Laura sighs.

“When you were hurt, Natasha at least tried to sleep on her own. And before you give me some nonsense about how we both waited up, your own house is a lot more comfortable than this facility.” She pauses, still seeing the defiance in his eyes. “Look, it’s just so you can get some sleep, okay? No matter what, even if she hasn’t woken up yet, we’ll come back here and wait. I promise.”

Clint shifts, allowing their gazes to meet, and Laura breathes quietly, seeing him come back to himself.

“Hey,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.

“Hey,” Clint replies tiredly as Laura moves closer and rubs his back, recognizing the defeat that's starting to take hold.

“Come home, okay? I’ll stay. Plus, I’ll finally get to see this bachelor pad of yours. Or, well, I guess it’s not really a bachelor pad now that Natasha spends so much time there, is it?”

That at least gets a small smile out of him, despite the fact that it looks pained. “What about Cooper?”

“He’s with my parents...thinks I’m traveling for work, and so do they. And god knows mom and dad will be happy to babysit him for as long as I need them to. So I’m here, okay? I’m going to stay with you and be here for you. And her.”

Clint nods again and Laura turns him around slowly, walking him towards the elevator, taking careful notice of the fact that his hand refuses to move from where it's clutching her waist.

 

***

 

Clint calls a SHIELD car that takes them to his apartment, and the first thing Laura notices upon walking inside is how clean it is. Clint seems to sense her thought process, because he gestures loosely towards the kitchen with the word  _Natasha_ , before disappearing to the bedroom. Laura stays by the door, looking around at the small couch and rectangular kitchen table and misshapen cushions, the take-out boxes littering the trashcan area and the three coffee makers (one Keurig and one espresso machine and one drip machine, naturally), trying to acclimate herself to a place she feels like she should know from video phone calls alone -- a place that feels entirely too foreign.

“You okay?” Clint inquires when he walks back into the room, uniform finally abandoned. He’s shirtless and has changed into jeans, the top of which he’s left unbuttoned, and it’s a sight that reminds Laura so much of home that for a moment, she almost thinks that if she turns around, she’ll see a large window, her desk and framed pictures of Cooper on the windowsill.

“Yeah,” Laura admits quietly. “Just...trying to get used to this. It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

“Well, compared to the house, it’s nothing,” Clint says and Laura tries to smile. Clint frowns slightly, holding out his arms.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says as Laura steps closer, letting herself relax against him, realizing it’s the first time she’s truly allowed herself to hold him since she arrived at the hospital.

“Kind of an unorthodox way to meet in the middle, huh?” Clint murmurs, and Laura can tell he’s still on edge but trying to make her feel better. “With the person we love being the cause of it.”

Laura tries to smile. “You always said you wanted to show me New York, even though I hate big cities.”

“I still do,” Clint says, hugging her tighter. “One day, we’ll get that carriage ride in Central Park. I promise. And then the Empire State Building, and 2nd Avenue Deli, and the Circle Line...I’ll make a full tourist out of you.”

“You better,” says Laura, moving away as she brushes a hand against one of his scars. “But right now, you should sleep.”

“ _We_ should sleep,” Clint corrects, and Laura notices that his eyes are half-lidded. She wonders just how long he’s been awake at this point, and knows the adrenaline crash has to be coming, if it hasn’t already started.

“Go to bed, and I’ll be there in a few.” She kisses him before shoving him gently towards the bedroom, watching him go, mostly to make sure that he doesn’t fall over and kill himself on the way. When she hears the soft grunt that she assumes is him falling onto the bed and not the floor, she starts fumbling around in the kitchen until she finds a large glass, which she fills with most of the bottle of Gatorade that’s sitting in his fridge.

“I'm no doctor, but if I had to guess, you’re probably dehydrated and haven’t eaten or slept in longer than I want to know,” Laura says when she comes into the bedroom, sitting down on the mattress. He’s already stretched out on top of the covers, turned on his side, in nothing but his boxers. “So you’re drinking _all_ of this before you actually sleep, and don’t think I won’t watch you.”

Clint makes a face but sits up, taking the glass from her outstretched hand, placing it on the nightstand once it's been fully drained.

“Thank you,” she says, leaning over to kiss him again before getting up. She’d only brought the essentials when she’d hastily packed, toiletries and a few too large sleep shirts and a couple pairs of pants, but she has a feeling she won’t be using anything she's brought. Sure enough, Clint’s voice is the first thing she hears when she bends down to retrieve her bag.

“Last drawer on the right,” he says, his voice strained. “Take whatever you want.”

Laura smiles to herself and moves to the dresser, sifting through the rumpled clothes -- hers and his, she realizes with a small smile -- until she finds a faded SHIELD tee-shirt with a coffee stain on the sleeve that seems to be indicative of Clint, though Laura knows at this point it could probably be Natasha, as well. His eyes crack open as she gets into bed, turning out the light.

“Thought you were gonna take one of Tasha’s shirts.”

“Almost did,” she says, wrapping her arms around him. The bed is comfortable, at least, though it’s nowhere near as soft as their own back at the farm. “Felt like one of yours. To be honest, I’m just glad it’s not you in that hospital tonight.” She tries to keep her voice steady, because she doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are -- and she’s already worried enough about Natasha -- but she also can’t stop her mind from replaying the stoic voice on the other end of the phone call, the one that she was sure was going to tell her that Clint was dead.

“Sorry,” Clint says quietly, as if understanding the words she doesn't say. “I hate making official calls like that, but I lost my regular phone and it was the only way I could get to you quickly.”

“It’s okay,” Laura soothes, though it’s really not, but she doesn't think either of them are ready to have that conversation. She snuggles against him, suddenly missing the comfortable weight of Natasha on the other side of her body.

“It’s my fault,” he says when she’s almost fully asleep, her fingers relaxing against his arm. She comes awake at his words, propping herself on one elbow.

“What?”

“It’s my fault that she’s hurt.”

“Clint…” Laura swallows down the lump in her throat. “Clint, no. It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” and his voice slides into a miserable tone. “She wanted to leave. She wanted to call it in because she thought we were done. That’s why she had taken her vest off. We were on our way out...halfway to the quinjet so we could go home. We were gonna get diner food downtown." He laughs, but it's a sound that Laura can tell is hollow, and forced. "I told her that we should do one more sweep, but she wouldn’t let me. Said if we were going back in there, it didn’t need to be both of us. That she could go check it out, she could handle it herself. That guy wasn’t even waiting for her, but he was still there, just...hiding...got spooked and shot her.” He tries to control his voice, clenching his jaw. “By the time I got inside she was just...there was so much blood and she wasn't moving. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did what you were supposed to do as her partner,” Laura reassures gently. “You got her help. You got her to a hospital. You saved her life.”

“But she wouldn’t be there in the first place if I hadn’t insisted we go back,” Clint says, his voice rising in the dark room. “I do this all the time, Laura. I don’t _think_. I put myself in danger, I put her in danger...and one day, I’m going to pay for it.”

“Clint.” Laura’s sitting up fully now, fighting against the exhaustion she feels coursing through her, the tiredness that's finally taken over now that she’s comfortable and lying in bed and not sitting on a plane or in a hospital chair. “How many times have you insisted that Cooper should try something again? How many times have you told him to get back on his bike after falling down?” When Clint doesn’t answer, she keeps going. “How many times did you tell me to keep applying for jobs after I graduated? How many times did you tell me to keep trying when I wanted to knit Cooper that blanket for his birthday, but kept giving up because I was frustrated?”

Clint shakes his head. “It’s different.”

“I don't think so,” Laura says. “It’s not life and death, but your natural instinct is to push people. It’s one of the things that I love about you.” She finds his hand under the covers and squeezes it. “And Natasha _trusts_ you. She wouldn’t have gone back in there just because. She trusted that you thought something was wrong, and it’s not your fault that things went badly. You put yourself in the line of fire all the time.”

Clint’s breathing becomes shallow, and Laura moves closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I guarantee that when she wakes up, she won’t blame you for any of this. She’ll be the first person telling you _not_ to beat yourself up.”

“Maybe,” Clint says and Laura can tell he still doesn’t believe her. She puts her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, because while everything seems different and strange, she can at least take comfort in this familiarity -- the rise and fall of Clint's chest, the lingering smell of gunpowder that sometimes accompanies him when he walks through the door of the farm, the smell that reminds her that he's taken hits but also that he's lived through them.

“When you love someone, you don’t just give up on them,” she reminds him softly, and Clint rests his cheek against her hair.

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a long moment. “I needed -- I really needed you.”

Laura closes her eyes, something warm spreading through her insides because even though she _knows_ Clint needs her more than he would ever let on, there's something about hearing him say the words out loud that makes her heart feel like it's going to burst. “I know,” she says, scratching her nails gently against his chest, hoping the movement will be enough to finally lull him to sleep. “I know, Clint. I know.”

 

***

 

Laura wakes up to the smell of coffee, and for a moment, everything seems normal.

 _Just five more minutes_ , she thinks as she relaxes again, knowing Clint will take care of Cooper in the meantime, and maybe she’ll actually get some extra minutes to shower this morning rather than waiting until the middle of the day, because having Clint home meant that was an actual possibility. A crash from somewhere outside startles her again, bringing her fully out of her haze, and she snaps into awareness, taking in the unfamiliar bed, the sparsely decorated room, and the light peeking out from underneath the closed door.

 _Clint’s apartment. Brooklyn. Nat in the hospital._ Laura turns to squint at the digital clock as everything comes rushing back, and finds that even though the room is too bright, it’s only 7:45 in the morning.

“And here I thought _you’d_ be the one sleeping in,” Laura says after she makes her way into the kitchen, her eyes straying to the phone sitting on the table. “Nothing?”

Clint looks up, shaking his head. “I know they said forty-eight hours, but…”

Laura sighs. “It’s barely been twenty-four, Clint.”

“I know.” He looks slightly embarrassed, and Laura sits down in his lap as he wraps his arms around her middle, putting his head against her back.

“You know, when you were hurt, Nat told me the same thing.”

“What?” Clint sounds confused, his voice muffled against her shirt, and Laura smiles sadly.

“She said she had a hard time sleeping when you weren't okay. Not exactly something I had a problem understanding, if you know what I mean.”

Clint nods against her, his breath blowing warm puffs of air through the fabric of her shirt. “I love you.”

“I know,” Laura gets up, smoothing rumpled hair back from his forehead. “I do, too.” She reaches for his mug, taking a sip of his coffee. “Breakfast first, okay? Then we’ll go back to the hospital.”

Clint gives her a small smile as she moves to the counter and takes the mug left out for her, pouring her own coffee before going to the cupboard and rummaging around for a box of cereal.

“You know, I could get used to this,” she continues as she pours milk, and Clint makes a face.

“I _do_ know how to take care of myself,” he grumbles and Laura shrugs.

“Just saying.” She shoves a bowl of Cheerios in front of him as she sits down in the chair. “Eat.”

Clint grudgingly obeys while Laura sips her coffee, and they spend most of the morning in silence with Laura reaching across the table every so often to hold Clint's hand. Two hours later, they’re back in SHIELD’s medical wing, and Laura thinks that she’s almost gotten used to the men walking around with guns strapped to their ankles, like it's no big deal.

“No change,” Clint says as soon as he’s managed to secure Natasha’s chart. Laura places her hand on his arm.

“Like they said: twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You wanna go see her?”

Clint looks a little hesitant, but nods, and Laura gently steers him towards Natasha's room. In the time that they'd been away, she’d at least been moved out of the ICU, though the ventilator still remained and Laura hears Clint’s breath catch audibly in his throat as he opens the door.

And then, as if hit with a bolt of energy that's caused everything to light up in front of her, Laura understands. She watches him take one of Natasha's hands, touching the parts of her not messy with IV wires and bandages, and her heart constricts, causing her to gasp quietly. This wasn't just knowing someone's pain because you shared the same feelings as them, and because you cared deeply for them in a way that no one else understood. This was different.

This was _love_ , and this was a whole new level of pain, and suddenly, Laura wishes she didn’t know what that felt like.

“I guess we can make ourselves comfortable,” she says when she can speak again, seeing that Clint has already dropped himself into the nearest chair. “I know we just had breakfast, but I can make a coffee run, if you want.”

“Later,” Clint says as he continues to stare at the bed and Laura can almost see the guilt eating away at him. She gives up, knowing that nothing about the situation will be better until Natasha wakes up and he can be relieved of the fact that he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Then I’m going to read,” she announces, settling herself in the chair across the room. She curls up as comfortably as she can in the hard mold and takes a book out of her large purse. It’s hard to concentrate, though, especially knowing that Clint isn’t doing anything to keep himself busy other than continuing to stare at unchanging monitors, and after an hour, Laura feels her leg cramping up.

“I can’t sit here anymore,” she tells him, getting up and throwing her book on the chair. “I’m getting coffee.”

He looks up and nods, and she grabs her purse, squeezing his shoulder once before leaving the room. She immediately feels lighter once she steps into the hallway, as if an anvil has been lifted off of her chest; part of her doesn’t want to leave at all because she feels the same way Clint does about Natasha's current state. But whether it's school, or Cooper not being able to sleep through the night due to an illness, or Clint not checking in for over three days, Laura knows she's never been good at dealing with stressful things without the option of taking some sort of break.

There’s no real cafeteria in SHIELD’s hospital, but there’s at least a few vending machines that provide some measure of food and coffee, and Laura buys a few candy bars as well as two cups of caffeine to make up for the fact they probably won’t eat dinner until later, if at all. She shoves the Snickers and the Twix into her purse and is on her way back, taking her time as she wanders through the hallway, when she realizes there’s a commotion outside Natasha’s room. Her pace quickens, coffee sloshing over the side of the styrofoam cups and onto her pants leg and shoes as she approaches Natasha's room.

For the second time in two days, Laura's mind begins to prepare her for the worst, but when she pushes past the doctors and nurses filling out the door, she finds only Clint and Natasha, who has come awake with small moans and looks more vulnerable than Laura has ever seen her.

“Nat…” She puts both coffees on the small table and moves to the other side of the bed, while Natasha smiles weakly.

“How bad was I that _you_ had to come?” she tries to joke, her raspy voice sounding even rougher than usual, and Laura thinks that with the exception of Cooper's first wail, she's never heard a more beautiful sound.

“They just took the ventilator off,” Clint explains, not taking his eyes off Natasha. “She started to wake up as soon as they removed it.”

Laura nods, reaching for Natasha's hand and stroking the back of her palm. “Hell of a way to get us both here,” Laura says after a moment. "Is this part of your master plan for a threesome?" She swears she sees Natasha smile through what she’s sure has to be a large amount of pain.

“I’m normally used to just him.” She coughs. “You’re a nice change.”

“Hey,” Clint says indignantly, and Natasha closes her eyes.

“Shut up, Barton. You know...you know I’m glad you’re here.”

Laura can’t help it -- she releases a laugh that shakes her insides, her lips falling into a smile that feels almost foreign, relief flooding through her body. Even Clint starts to laugh after a moment, his eyes shining too brightly and his face becoming less lined, and Natasha smiles again as she drifts off, Laura and Clint by her side, both of them holding one of her hands in their own.

 

***

 

One week later, Natasha is home from the hospital, mostly laid up though she can get around easily enough for someone who has survived being shot in the chest. There’s PT every other day and too many painkillers, which Laura suspects is somewhat normal, but she’s home and recovering and because of that, Clint’s mood has improved steadily. Laura has elected to stay with both of them and when her parents press her about her continued absence, she lies about taking a detour to see Clint in New York since he happened to have some time off. In the grand scheme of things that she'd lied about since meeting Clint, it wasn’t a total fib, at least.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you cook like a maid,” Natasha says from the couch as she lazily flips channels on the television, watching Laura unload groceries from her latest shopping trip. “Number one, this isn't even your apartment. Number two, I’ve seen how you are when _he_ gets injured.”

“Aw, come on,” Clint mutters from where he’s cleaning dishes. “Show a little love.”

“I’m showing you _all_ my love,” Natasha says sarcastically, leaning her head against the couch and running a hand through hair that hasn't been properly washed in at least four days. “So you can stop beating yourself up over this, now.”

Clint lets a dish clatter into the sink with a loud crash and Laura freezes with her hand halfway into the paper bag, her fingers closing around a jug of milk. She glances at Clint, who’s gone rigid.

“Clint,” Natasha continues when he doesn’t respond, and her voice sounds even more tired than usual. “Come over here.”

Laura watches out of the corner of her eye as Clint moves to the couch, sitting down on the other side. After a few moments of silence, Laura straightens up, standing and watching from the edge of the room.

“I don’t blame you for what happened," says Natasha when she finally speaks. "You know that.”

Clint moves his jaw back and forth. “If I hadn’t made you go back in there --”

“None of this would have happened,” Natasha interrupts. “Or maybe it would have. Maybe that guy would have snuck out and shot both of us as we walked onto the quinjet. Maybe he would’ve shot you instead of me.” She stops, and the silence in the room is so heavy, Laura thinks for a moment it’s become hard to breathe. “I don’t know, Clint. But what I do know is that we put ourselves at risk every single day with this job. And you’ve never beat yourself up this badly over something we’ve done before. So why now?”

Clint takes a slow breath, letting it out in waves. “I just...I almost lost you this time,” he says quietly. “It was too close, Nat. It wasn’t just you and I having a brush with death and being shaken up by living on the edge. You were _shot_ , and you were dying in front of me...there was nothing I could do.”

Natasha reaches her hand forward while Laura tries to busy herself with the rest of the groceries, knowing she’s doing an unsuccessful job of pretending to not pay attention to the conversation. 

“I know you’re stronger than this,” Natasha says, and her voice is hard but also gentle at the same time. “I _love_ you, Clint, but I can't have you fall apart with guilt when I get hurt. I need you to trust that if something happens, there's nothing you can do about it. It’s part of the job. It always will be. We're always going to be walking the edge of that cliff.”

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” Clint asks sharply, getting up and walking into the bedroom. Laura winces as he slams the door a little too hard, and Natasha inclines her head against the couch cushion.

“Sorry you had to see that.”

“No.” Laura shakes herself out of her stupor, trying not to dwell on what she knows is probably Clint’s growing anger on the other side of the door. “Seeing you like this…” She trails off, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never been here before with both of you. Like this.”

“You mean post mission,” Natasha asserts, and Laura nods.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Half of Natasha's mouth lifts itself into a smile. “It’s aways different. Sometimes, it’s nothing. Sometimes, it’s just like any other day. We come home and we joke and order food and fall asleep watching bad television while I yell at him for something he's done that's pissed me off. Sometimes…” She sighs. “Sometimes, it’s a lot more complicated than either of us want to admit. Usually, though, I don’t require surgery for a collapsed lung.”

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Laura says automatically, because if she knows anything about Clint and Natasha, it’s that they bounce back faster than anyone should for people who get injured as much as they do. 

“I will,” Natasha agrees and something in her voice causes Laura to put down the carton of eggs she’s holding. She moves to the couch, taking Clint’s place, tucking her legs underneath her.

“Does this happen a lot? With both of you? This guilt, this...anger, this kind of fight?”

“Depends what you mean by a lot,” Natasha says a little too nonchalantly. “If I wasn’t laid up, this is the part where we would probably end up screwing each other for a long time. You know, he's really good in bed when he's angry at me.”

Laura lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I feel like I shouldn’t be okay with this,” she admits. “Any of this. But for some reason, I am.” Her eyes travel to the closed bedroom door. “He loves you. You give him something I can’t.”

“You do, too,” Natasha says gently, and when Laura looks back at her, she’s smiling in encouragement. “I love him, but I’ve always been understanding of the fact that Clint needs things I can’t offer. If it was just me...if it was just us, I don't know if he would be as happy with his life as he is right now. I'm just glad he has someone who _can_ give him those things.”

Laura blinks, suddenly overcome by emotion, the overwhelming weight of the past few days hitting her like a truck. “You know, most people would think this whole thing is weird.”

“ _Most_ people don’t know what it’s like to be married to someone like him, living this kind of life,” Natasha reminds her. Laura looks over, leaning forward so that she can brush an errant curl out of Natasha's face.

“Or know what it's like to be in love with someone like you.”

Natasha looks startled, before her eyes soften, and Laura tucks her own hair behind her ear with a shy smile. It’s the first time, she realizes, that she’s used that specific term of endearment around Natasha without just _thinking_ it.

“So.”

Laura jumps slightly at the throat clearing behind her, turning around to see Clint leaning against the doorway, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. “If my wife and my partner are finished making passionate declarations towards each other -- which I still find strange, by the way -- am I allowed to come spend some time with them?”

Laura shifts on the couch, being careful of the way Natasha’s body is spread out, but making enough room for Clint to join. He inserts himself easily, the way he’s used to doing when they sit together at the farm, and Laura can’t help but feel like they’re all missing pieces of a puzzle -- the kind of pieces that shouldn’t fit anywhere specific but manage to slot together almost perfectly when they’re with each other.

“The groceries,” Laura murmurs, already feeling tired. Clint pushes against her, sticking his legs on the coffee table, reaching for the remote.

“I’ll take care of it. Eventually.”

“You’re going to ruin the eggs,” Laura complains as Natasha’s fingers catch her hair, tangling in what Laura knows are knotted strands.

“Laura.” Natasha’s using that firm-but-not voice again, and for some reason, it's a tone that Laura finds strangely soothing. “Stop taking care of us for once, and let _us_ take care of _you_. Relax.”

 _Relax._ Laura breathes out slowly, falling asleep to the soft lull of the television, the creaking of the floor above them in the small Brooklyn apartment, Clint’s warm body pressed against her own and Natasha’s hand stroking her scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has shown interest in this compilation of moments so far, whether it's here or on tumblr or anywhere else, thank you! <3 It means a lot and inspires me to keep writing. At this point, I'm not sure that every chapter won't end up being a semi-monster (which seems a bit silly to say when I'm continuing a story from a fic already more than 40,000 words) but I'm riding this out for as long as I can find pockets of stories to tell between these three, and I hope you stay along for the journey.


	6. 2011: Part I

When Laura returns from her walk with Lila, she finds Natasha curled up on the couch with a mug of tea and a thick stack of papers, engrossed in something Laura knows she’d barely understand, judging from the title of the folder alone. Cooper is sitting on the floor in front of her, reading what Laura recognizes as the newest installment of _The Hunger Games._

“You know the drill,” Laura says, sitting down and kissing her shoulder in a spot where her shirt has slipped, once she’s settled Cooper with a snack of celery and peanut butter in the kitchen and secured Lila in her baby bouncer. “No work while you’re at home.”

Natasha sighs loudly, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I swear it’s not intentional. I just feel like I can’t take a break sometimes. And when you’re out, and I’m alone...it’s just...it’s how I’m used to passing the time, I guess.”

“Really?” Laura raises an eyebrow. “Even after being around a child that forces you to watch _Beauty and the Beast_ on repeat every hour?”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “Even then.”

Laura kisses Natasha on the cheek and then takes Natasha's mug, sipping it before looking at her curiously with a quirked brow.

“Mint,” Natasha says quietly, gesturing towards the steam wafting from the cup. “Clint started doing it for me --”

“When you had a sore throat,” Laura finishes, and Natasha looks up.

“Yeah.” She pushes hair behind her ear, her lips turning up. “Guess it sort of stuck.” She grabs for her papers again as Laura curls closer.

“You know, I was thinking...since it’s just the two of us for awhile, maybe we should take advantage of spending some time together. Alone.”

“Alone?” Natasha meets Laura’s eyes, and Laura nods.

“Alone. Out of the house.”

Now Natasha’s looking at her more intensely, studying her face in a way that makes Laura wonder if this is how she is when she’s meeting someone in the field for the first time. “You mean, like...a date?”

“Kind of,” Laura says quietly. “I know we’ve obviously eaten out before. But I thought maybe I could ask my parents to take the kids while we...you know. Went out for a bit. To someplace nice.”

Natasha hesitates and then puts down her folder, leaning back against the couch. “Laura Barton.”

Laura feels her stomach clench with nerves. “Yes?”

Natasha shifts in place, running her hands through Laura's hair. “If you’re coming onto me, you should know that I don’t take someone home until _at least_  the second date.”

“Oh.” Laura breathes in relief and matches her grin, bringing her legs up with a wink. “That’s okay. I think I know where you live. And I also think I already know how you are in bed.”

 

***

 

Two nights later, Laura has successfully managed to convince her mother to take both Cooper and Lila for a few hours, and she’s also successfully managed to convince Natasha to put on something other than jeans.

“I _do_ wear nice things, you know,” Natasha says when Laura opens her closet door with a pointed look. “I can’t exactly walk into a gala in Turkey while wearing sweatpants.”

“I know,” Laura replies. “But I also know you don’t pack that stuff when you come here. Which is why I’m letting you have free reign tonight. Think of it as a complimentary shopping trip.” She rubs Natasha's back. “We’re about the same size, anyway.”

“ _Now_ ,” Natasha teases, her eyes sparkling. “You know, not that it matters, but I’ve never seen someone look so good after having a baby.”

Laura feels a faint blush rise along her cheeks. “You should’ve seen me after Cooper,” she deflects. “I felt like lump...and my breasts were huge for weeks.”

“What a tragedy,” Natasha says resignedly and Laura gives her a look.

“You’re actually disappointed.”

“I am,” Natasha agrees somberly. “Now I have to imagine you with post pregnancy breasts, because you didn’t get so lucky with this kid.”

Laura finds herself laughing out loud. “Maybe I’ll have a third, and he’ll love breastfeeding more than this one does.”

Natasha grins, staring at the closet again. “Maybe. Don’t get me excited. Better yet, leave me alone so I can actually get dressed. Don’t you want to be surprised at what I pull out of here?”

The dress that Natasha ends up picking out is one that Laura had bought for Clint’s birthday a few years ago. It’s deep blue and low-cut in a steep V, with capped sleeves and shorter in the front than in the back. It had been a little too tight on Laura at the time, especially around her hips, though she hadn’t really minded -- she knew it hugged her in all the right places, and she thinks that she’ll never forget Clint’s look when she walked down the stairs, the fact that maybe for the first time since their wedding day, she’d managed to render him breathless.

And now, Laura thinks she might know how Clint had felt, because as she watches Natasha walk down the stairs, hair brushed back and face made up just enough for Laura to tell that she’s put in a little bit of effort, her own breath catches in her throat and she feels her heart start to beat a little faster, her face becoming flushed with unforeseen emotion.

Natasha looks positively beautiful.

“I think the dress is a little big,” Natasha says when she gets to the bottom of the stairs, pulling self-consciously at a tangled curl. Laura steps forward, brushing her hair back.

“I think it’s perfect,” she says quietly as Natasha drags one hand over her chin, pushing her face up until she meets her lips. Laura can’t help the thrill that shoots through her stomach, and she’s realizing more and more that she loves when Natasha kisses her. She used to think it was almost the same thing as kissing Clint, because for a long time, it _felt_ the same. But she's come to realize that Clint is more passionate, that his kisses are, whether or not it's his intention, too rooted in desperate lust. Natasha is gentler, a strange balance between confident and shy, and Laura loves that dichotomy.

“I like yours,” Natasha says a little shyly when she pulls away, eyeing Laura’s outfit, the simple sleeveless dress that also plunges deep along her chest. “I’m going to file away that red is your color.”

“Oh, really?” Laura teases. “Why, so that when you’re in some market in Bangkok, you can buy me a dress or a skirt or something and ship it home?”

“Yes,” Natasha says in a voice that’s low and flat, and it takes Laura a moment to realize that while she had been joking, Natasha had very much been serious. “I’ve never…” She pauses, looking suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t buy things for people. Not even him, except when I have to. It’s just...not who I am. It’s not who _we_ are.” She shrugs a little self-consciously. “But sometimes, I feel like I want to give you the world.”

Laura’s cheeks start to burn again and Natasha leans forward and kisses her again, painted lips meeting glossy ones. She pulls away, running her fingers along Laura’s mouth, smearing the parts where her lipstick has left marks.

“Now I know how Clint feels when he says he doesn’t deserve me,” Laura manages, trying to find an adequate response to the moment, and Natasha inclines her head.

“You’re being silly.” She loops her arm through Laura’s own, and reaches for the car keys. “Come on. Where are you taking me on our date tonight, Mrs. Barton?”

Laura smiles, opening the front door, and leads Natasha outside.

 

***

 

The restaurant Laura’s made a reservation at is just outside of the small town that’s a few miles from the farm. When Natasha walks in, she finds herself feeling more than a little than out of place.

“Do you take Clint here a lot?” she asks as they’re led to a table, and Laura shrugs.

“Sometimes we do date nights here, when we can,” she replies. “We don’t get much time anymore, obviously, but we used to come here a lot when Cooper was younger. Is it...it’s not too much, is it?”

Natasha hesitates. The restaurant is nice, and nicer than wherever she would probably choose to go for a random dinner. But it’s nowhere near fancy, and as much as there are other people in pretty dresses, there are also a fair number of families with kids, and people in jeans and sneakers.

“It’s perfect,” she says after a moment, sending Laura a smile. She reaches across the table and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I really did just want to have a nice night together. With you.”

Natasha nods. “I know,” she says, squeezing back. “No yelling babies. No food on the floor. No phone calls telling me my partner’s hurt himself.”

“Well.” Laura swallows and sighs. “ _Hopefully_.”

Natasha grins wryly, because she knows that it’s still not easy for Laura to make jokes about Clint’s accident-prone nature -- there are still too many close calls, and Laura hasn’t lived enough of this life that she'll never not be worried about her husband’s safety.

“Why do we do it?”

“Do what?”

“Love him,” Natasha says, picking up her glass with her free hand. “For example, right now he’s on some random mission in New Mexico. Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S., or something or the other. He won’t even give _me_ the details, only that he’s watching out for some important piece of technology that he promises is, quote unquote, not terribly dangerous. He gives me more stress than I ever had doing a job where I killed people for a living. He makes stupid decisions that land him in the hospital. And for some reason, I love him.”

Laura shakes her head, looking down at her napkin. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I want to kill him, sometimes, for being so reckless. For doing things that always make me worry. Even for things like telling Cooper far-fetched stories about what he does for a living. But then I realize that the reason _why_ I feel that way is because I love him too damn much.”

Natasha forces out a smile. “Because he’s a dork.”

“Because he’s _our_ dork.”

“The big dorky hero who can also make a mean latte and take care of you when you’re sick,” Natasha says with a sigh. “And who would throw himself into harm’s way if it meant he could save you or me. He’s a goddamn idiot.”

Laura laughs. “Well, I’m glad _someone_ finally gets what I’ve been living with for the past ten years.” Her palm is warm in Natasha’s own and her fingers curl around her skin.

“Why do you love me?” Natasha asks suddenly, pulling her hand back. “I know why you love him...I know why _I_ love him. But I don’t understand me.”

Laura blinks, looking surprised. “You’re...you’re Nat,” she says, sounding a little confused, and Natasha feels herself frown.

“I don’t understand.”

Laura bites her lip. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a very good way of putting it.” She takes a long breath. “You make me feel safe. Not because of your training, or because I know you could stitch me up if I ever got a bad cut, but because you know what it’s like to protect things you care about. You love him, and you know how important we are to him, and you show that whenever you look at me...whenever you touch me. You may have walls, but you let them all down when you’re in front of me, whether you want to or not. You show your love in so many ways without even saying the words out loud.”

Natasha looks down and takes a piece of bread, opening it carefully with her fingers. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I’m sure Clint has said plenty nice things to you,” Laura says promptly. “Most of them in bed.”

Natasha raises her head and tries to smile. “It’s different,” she says, trying to keep her tone from becoming too sad, because she knows everything about this night has been well-intentioned and she _is_ enjoying Laura’s company like this, alone, being able to focus on her in a way she normally doesn’t get to do when they’re at the house.

“Different how?” Laura asks curiously. Natasha grimaces.

“Just...different.” She pauses. “You have to understand, Laura...I’m not normal. I wasn’t made to be loved. I didn’t even know what love _was_ until Clint told me about you, until I heard the way he talked about you, the pictures he showed me of you and Cooper...then, I got it. I learned to love Clint and how to love back, but it was only because he showed me what love could be. The love that he had for you, the love that you had for him. This is still new to me. It's still something I'm trying to figure out. So it feels strange to hear that someone...well...loves me. For just me.”

“Natasha…” Laura smiles sadly. “I do love you. I love you more than anything, and I wouldn’t look at any other girl the same way, but you’re right. You _are_ different. And that's my favorite thing about you.”

Natasha's lips start to turn up against her will. “Maybe we’re just something special,” she says as she takes another bread roll. “All of us.”

Laura smiles and nods, her eyes softening. “Yeah," she says quietly, brushing Natasha's ankle with her own under the table. "Maybe we are.”

 

***

 

Lila’s asleep by the time they rescue the kids from Laura’s mom’s house, so much so that she actually stays asleep the entire ride home, and even when Laura pulls her from the car seat of the minivan.

“I’ll take her,” Natasha decides quietly, holding out her arms. Laura nods, passing off her daughter and taking Cooper’s hand as she heads towards the house. Natasha follows slowly, walking upstairs while Laura helps her son get changed and watches him brush his teeth, and Natasha enters the bedroom and puts Lila down in her crib. After changing into more comfortable clothes, she finds Laura's still with Cooper, and passes her a look as she heads downstairs. The baby would sleep through the night, hopefully, if they were lucky.

“Maybe we should go out more often,” Laura says with a small smile when she comes downstairs, having changed herself, make-up scrubbed clean off. She's wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt, her hair falling across her shoulders in soft waves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lila sleep through a changeover like that. At least, not since Clint was here.”

“Guess I have the magic touch,” Natasha says, and she notices that Laura’s eyes suddenly look bright. “Laura?”

“Sorry.” Laura shakes her head. “It’s just...Clint said that same thing about Cooper, when he was born. He was the only one who could calm him down without it taking ten hours.”

Natasha holds out her hand without thinking about it and Laura walks to the couch, curling up next to her, putting her head on her shoulder.

“You miss him.”

“Yeah,” Laura says quietly into Natasha’s hair. “I do. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Neither of them say the words, the fact that they know Natasha has to leave sooner rather than later. And Natasha knows that Laura has as much of a life here as she would anywhere else -- friends and parents and swim practices and PTA meetings and even book clubs -- but there’s a hole that Clint always leaves that Natasha understands can’t be filled by an otherwise full life. It's the same hole she feels, the emptiness that she can't forget about when she's away from Laura and the farm, even though she has Clint and SHIELD and missions and her life in New York.

“I have something for you,” Laura says suddenly, pushing away from Natasha and getting up. Natasha furrows her brow.

“What do you mean?”

Laura walks to the kitchen table and Natasha follows, trying to quell the apprehension taking up residence in her insides. When she joins Laura at the table, she notices that there’s a small box in front of her, and Natasha quirks her lips, before reaching out curiously.

“What’s this?”

“It’s…” Laura looks a little embarrassed as Natasha goes to work on opening the box, her fingers sliding expertly under the lid. “Well, I just thought maybe you’d want one.”

“Want what?” Natasha creases her brow in confusion as she finally gets the tape off, opening the case in front of her to reveal a small, white-gold ring. It glints in the overhead light of the kitchen, catching rainbow prisms that reflect onto the wooden table, and suddenly Natasha feels like she can’t breathe. She drops the box onto the table, as if it’s been doused in flames.

“ _Why_ would I want it?”

Laura looks hurt, but forces out a smile. “I know Clint and I both think of you more like family now, and I know you think of us in the same way. I thought maybe this would help make it feel more official.”

“So I’m not a part of your family unless I have some piece of cheap jewelry to bind myself to you?” Natasha asks bluntly. “That’s what this whole night was? Some sort of fake proposal thing where we go out and dress up, and then you ask me to marry you or something ridiculous?”

“No,” Laura says, and now she does look upset. She reaches forward. “Nat, that’s...that’s not what I meant at all. That’s not what this night was at all.”

“It sounds like it,” Natasha says curtly, refusing to take the outstretched hand she would normally want to touch, and Laura shakes her head more firmly.

“Nat...Natasha. Please. I’m sorry. I swear it’s not like that. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Upset.” Natasha lets out a shrill laugh that she’s not sure even sounds like her. “You think you can just buy my love like this? Convince me that I can be a part of your family by giving me a ring that I don’t deserve?”

“You do deserve it,” Laura says quietly, and Natasha glares.

“No. I don’t. You and Clint had actual vows, and an actual marriage. You dated and you got to know each other and you _earned_ your rings. I just came in here on a wing and a prayer, and infiltrated both of your lives when you never asked for it.”

“You didn’t do that,” Laura tries to argue, and Natasha wants to scream, because everything from Laura’s face to the feeling in her stomach to the way her spine is tightening rigidly is causing overwhelming pain that seems to intensify every time she glances down at the object on the table.

“It’s not the same,” she spits out, picking up the box and throwing it across the kitchen. She’s never quite possessed Clint’s perfect aim, but the small object lands squarely in the trashcan and Natasha pushes back her chair, avoiding Laura’s face and the tears she can see starting to spring to her eyes.

_Dammit, Laura. You’re so damn stupid, I love you, but you had to go do that to me? Do you even know what this feels like?_

She leaves the house even as she thinks she hears Laura calling softly behind her, but doesn’t look back and breaks into a run as soon as she closes the door, sprinting past the car and the barn, the big tree, the fence; until she reaches the open road, her feet pounding against the pavement. Laura’s flip-flops, the ones she’d stolen to wear around the house, twist and flap against her feet in protest until she finally kicks them off in anger, stopping to retrieve them only because she knows that they weren’t so much Laura’s shoes as they were a gift from Clint.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

She keeps running until she’s made it three miles or so down the road, stopping and collapsing to the ground on legs that are shaking half from frustration and half from tiredness. Dragging herself to a sitting position, she puts her head in her arms, breathing through the searing pain in her lungs.

 _Or, half of a lung now_ , she thinks grimly as she gulps for air, because she always forgets that, even though sometimes she thinks she can’t forget that particular day and what came after.

Natasha doesn’t do guilt. Natasha doesn’t do regret, at least, not very often. But Natasha finds herself wondering how long it’ll take for her to forget Laura’s hurt face, the way her eyes watered uncharacteristically the moment Natasha rejected the ring. Natasha knows for a fact that Laura hardly ever cries, especially over things like fights or hurled insults.

And she also knows that Clint couldn’t and wouldn’t have told his wife about the more intricate details of his partner’s past. Natasha’s sure Laura’s gesture _had_ come from nothing more than a well-meaning attempt at trying to make her inclusion into their family more official and more personal. Still…

 _Still._ Natasha had given herself over to Clint willingly in a show of respect, and they had fallen into a mutual partnership after that. Their relationship wasn’t a relationship as much as it was an understanding, something that had been carried over when Natasha had let herself become comfortable with her feelings for Laura. It was a relationship she liked because she felt like she had been invited into a life without any strings attached, though Natasha would also be lying if she said she didn't wonder if Laura would have even looked at her if she hadn't been already entrenched in Clint’s world.

She wouldn’t blame her, if that were the case. Until Clint, no one had.

 _I’m not made for commitment_ , Natasha thinks, swiping angrily at the tears she can’t seem to stop. _I’m proving that to everyone right now, including myself_.

Auntie Nat held the kids and played games with them and told them ghost stories. Nat held Laura’s hand and kissed her and imagined making love to her alone, when Clint wasn’t in the house. Natasha…Natasha wasn’t a friend or a loving addition to the family. _Natasha_ was an agent, an assassin, someone with triggers who could hurt people, who always put work first, even in front of the kids she had grown to love as her own. Natasha wasn’t _made_ for family, not in the same way people who shared rings and vows were. Her heart throbs painfully at the mental image of Cooper’s big eyes, the ones that remind her so much of Clint’s, of Lila’s heart-shaped face, the one that's an almost splitting image of her mother's. Clint's voice mumbling _Tasha_ when she's upset or scared or angry, the name no one else has ever dared to call her, and Laura’s eyes, soft and loving and understanding, her looks saying everything her voice can't when she listens to Natasha talk about the worst night of her life.

 _And I deserve none of that love_ , Natasha thinks sullenly, putting her arm out and staring at her hand. She tries to imagine what a ring might look like against her skin, and when she can’t, she tries instead to imagine wearing it on a chain around her neck. She can practically feel the physical weight of the phantom object crushing her chest, and turns her head to gag helplessly on the side of the road, dry heaving into the ground.

_Not made for commitment. Not made for family._

She sits up and tries to catch her breath, wipes dirt off her face, shivering as the sun goes down. Hours later, when it’s completely dark, she finally starts making her way back to the house.

 

***

 

Natasha has no concept of time when she gets back to the farm, but the stars are fully out and there’s enough of a blue tint to the sky that she figures it has to be at least past one. She’s forgotten her own key but she takes the extra one hidden in the loose floorboard of the porch and lets herself inside.

There are toys all over the living room floor, uncharacteristically scattered, as if Laura has neglected to clean them up before going to bed, even though Natasha knows that she’s normally a little less lenient about everything when Clint’s not around. A few pieces of paper are littered among the Legos and stuffed animals, and Natasha reaches for them curiously, suddenly wishing she hadn’t. The papers are both drawings from Cooper, done in messy crayon  -- a depiction of what Natasha thinks might be a lion or some other jungle animal, and a picture of three stick figures, one holding a phone, one holding an arrow, and one with a scribbled mess of bright orange hair. FAMILY is written at the top in stilted block letters.

 _This is my home_ , Natasha thinks as she looks around the living room, because she knows that deep down more than anything else. _Why can’t I accept that when given the chance to make it even more official?_

Natasha puts down the drawings and walks quietly up the stairs, opening the door to the bedroom. Most of her clothes are already packed in advance of her impending departure, but there are a couple of items that Natasha knows are in the wash, and she doesn’t bother to find them before she picks up her bag, casting a gaze towards the bed. Laura’s curled on one side, bunched up under the covers, the top of her hair barely visible. One hand is stretched out, as if she’s holding someone who's not there, and she looks too small and too alone, even though Natasha knows she sleeps by herself all the time when they’re both not around. Nonetheless, it’s sight that breaks her heart.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispers into Laura’s ear as she bends down next to the bed, her eyes burning. Maybe it was a good thing that she was being sent to Russia, of all places. Maybe this was some blessing in disguise, the fact that she was not only going somewhere familiar, but also somewhere that was far away from both Clint and Laura -- a place where her mission could be completed without being close to the two people she loved. She moves to the crib in the corner, where Lila’s still asleep, and kisses her fingers, pressing them to the baby's head gently before backing out of the room. Natasha pauses for a moment outside Cooper’s door, debating whether or not to go in. It’s unlikely Cooper will wake up, but Natasha also knows it's a risk she can't take.

She opens the door slowly, allowing a small pocket of light to shine over Cooper’s body, and swallows down a lump in her throat as she closes the door again, walking down the stairs. Something catches her eye when she stops in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and it takes her a moment to realize Laura must have obviously rescued the ring from the trash.

 _Stupid_ , Natasha thinks again, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from the utilities drawer. She scribbles a short note, shoving it under the box, and leaves it on the counter before walking out under a cover of stillness and darkness.

_I’m sorry...I’m just not ready yet. Not like this. I do love you. I always will. Please don’t hate me._

She gets a text on her phone when she’s boarding the plane that will take her back to New York, and the message vibrates annoyingly in her pocket for a long time before she finally gets the courage to pick it up.

_I could never hate you. I understand. I always will. Be safe._

_Be safe._ It’s Laura’s patented message to Clint, to her, to both of them when they’re about to go off on another assignment, or when they call to check in -- and, Natasha knows, it’s an unspoken sentiment: _I love you_. Natasha blinks back tears and puts down the phone, slumping back against the hard seat and carefully turning her face towards the window.

_I will. I promise. I love you, too._


	7. 2000

At the lake house, Laura awakens to a warm breeze tickling her skin and another warmer breath blowing air across her cheek. She opens her eyes slowly, meeting Clint’s too-tan face, chiseled with lines and a few faint scars across his eyebrows.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and deep, and Laura smiles lazily.

“Morning.”

Clint props himself up on one elbow. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

Laura stretches out on the bed, turning over, and brings one arm up until she can clearly see the back of her hand. “You proposed to me. And I said yes.” She drops her arm onto the covers, the ring glinting in the sunlight from the open window. “So I guess we’re getting married.” The band that Clint’s picked out for her doesn’t have a large diamond set on top, or for that matter, any diamond at all -- it’s a thin silver band, inlaid with miniature silver stones that wrap all the way around, creating a look that’s both understated and also delicate -- exactly what Laura knows she would have wanted in an engagement ring, if Clint had decided to pick her brain before springing the question.

“I guess we are.” Clint leans over and kisses her, before lowering himself to the pillow. “Guess I also should’ve called your parents, first.”

Laura shakes her head. “I told you, I don’t care about my parents. I care about _you_.” She takes his face in both of her hands, slowly kissing his forehead, his eyes, and then his mouth, before breaking away. “But, you’re right, I should probably call them. How long did you know?”

“That I wanted to marry you? When you threw that first dart at the bar.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” Laura says, but she can’t stop smiling. “And you should save that kind of talk for the ceremony.”

“Mmmm. I’ll think about it.” He reaches up and brushes hair from her forehead. “For now, we’ve got at least one more day here, and I think I have a good idea of how to spend it.”

“Yeah?” Laura raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.” She realizes she’s talking more to the pillow than to him, and it causes Clint to poke at her with his pointer finger.

“Coffee first. Then, we’ll talk.”

Laura groans. “I’m calling it now: you are going to be the most annoying husband ever.”

“I’d like to think I’m going to be the _best_ husband ever, actually. Because right now, I’m going to get up and make you coffee, and maybe even breakfast, so that you can take a shower and relax.” He shoves against her as he rolls out of bed.

“Wait.”

He’s halfway to the door but turns at the sound of her voice, and Laura purses her lips innocently, trying to control an emerging smirk. “What if I want _help_ in the shower?”

Clint stares at her for a long moment, unmoving, and then rushes forward to leap back onto the bed. Laura cries out in surprise as he crawls on top of her, before their bodies and tongues become entwined in a breathless, helpless race that ends with her hands trying to pull his boxers off completely.

“Last one in the bathroom gives the other one a massage,” Clint says, tumbling easily out of her grip before she can get him fully naked. Laura wastes no time following, practically shoving him against the wall as he slams the door shut behind them.

 

***

 

After two cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs, Laura calls her parents and breaks the news.

“Well, tell Clint we’re thrilled,” Bob says over speakerphone, and Clint turns to give Laura a look. “Congratulations, honey. You sound happy.”

“I am,” Laura replies with all the sincerity she can muster, wishing they could see her face. _Someday, they’ll invent cool gadgets where you can see the other person while you’re talking_ , she thinks sullenly.

“Thanks, Bob.” Clint adds his voice from Laura’s lap, and then Elizabeth is taking over the line.

“Laura -- Clint -- oh, I’m just so happy for you!”

Laura smiles a little more, her mom had always been more easy-going and better at sharing her emotions than her dad. “Thanks, mom. I’ll show you the ring when I get home.”

“I’m sure Clint did a fantastic job,” Elizabeth answers confidently and Laura brushes her hand against the back of his hair, her eyes lingering on the small band.

“He did.”

“I _hope_ I did,” Clint adds dryly, and Laura laughs.

“We’ve gotta go. I'll call you again later, but I just wanted to call and tell you the news. Love you both.”

“Congratulations again, honey. We love you, too.”

Laura palms the red button on the cell phone as Clint relaxes against her, sighing loudly.

“Was that so bad?”

“No,” Clint admits, his body a dead weight against hers. “Though I’m pretty sure your dad will never be alright with me.”

“I told you, my dad loves you, because you love me. I’m pretty sure he sees that now,” Laura says, gently nudging him. “Stop with always thinking that you’re scum of the earth, Clint. You’re so far from that. And you’re going to be my husband soon.”

“And that gives you the right to knock sense into me?”

“All the time,” Laura says firmly. “Dare I ask what you have planned for today?”

Clint grins, gesturing with one hand towards the door. “There’s a small trail that you can hike around here, that I found when I was researching. Supposed to have some great views. I guess it could be cheesy, but I thought it would be a good first thing for us to do together once we were officially engaged.”

“Researching?” Laura leans back in the chair, raising an eyebrow. “Clinton Francis Barton, the man who makes fun of the fact that I carry two textbooks with me all the time. Were you actually doing _spy work_ behind my back to make this a special trip?”

“Maybe,” Clint admits, looking a little sheepish, standing up. “Though, I dunno if I’d call it spy work. More like...preparation.”

Laura rises as well, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” As she says the words, she swears she feels his skin turn warm.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he manages, nuzzling into her shoulder. “I’m okay.”

“You’re _better_ than okay,” Laura says, hooking her arms around his neck. “You’re mine, and I love you. And I’m stupidly lucky to have found you just because I wanted to get out of my dorm one night and have a drink.”

She thinks she sees Clint’s eyes mist over, and she reaches up with her thumb to brush away an impending tear.

“You should save that kind of talk for the ceremony,” he says quietly and then Laura’s kissing him again, pushing him up against the table, and the rest of his words die in his throat.

 

***

 

Laura has to hand it to Clint -- for as much as he hates planning, when he really wants to make things special, he does a decently good job.

 _And_ , Laura thinks as they climb along some low rocks, _it’s not really all that surprising_. She’s come to realize that not only is Clint someone who would put anyone above himself -- a thought which unsettles her for reasons she can’t quite explain –- but he’s also scarily good at seeing things through when he’s decided he wants to make them a priority. The trail he's picked out is about an hour’s drive from the lake house, a long winding path that he’s mapped out a route for, one that takes them from the bottom of the hill all the way to the top: a fairly long hike which Laura suspects will end right in time for them to see some sort of sunset. The idea thrills her; the open sky is one of her favorite things about Iowa but it’s been far too long since she’s lain outside under the stars and taken advantage of it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Clint says from behind her, his voice somewhere between thoughtful and determined. “About our wedding.”

“Already?” Laura cranes her neck to meet his eyes. “We’ve been engaged for less than twenty-four hours.”

He shrugs, huffing out a few breaths as he continues to climb behind her. “I know, I just...I wanna make it the best day of your life, you know? I want it to be special.”

Laura smiles to herself, turning back around. “Is this your backhanded way of suggesting we do crazy stunts and ride into the church on elephants or something?”

“What?” Clint sounds both winded and genuinely concerned. “No, I really mean it.” They fall into silence, and Laura suddenly notices that his footsteps have stopped.

“There’s going to be a church?”

Laura stops as well, inclining her head, realizing the words have slipped out without thinking.

“Well, I don’t know. I never really thought about it. My parents, they’re intermarried -- dad’s Christian, and mom was raised Jewish. But we never really had specific religious beliefs growing up, and they always told me it was up to me where I wanted to have a wedding, when the time came.”

“Oh.” Clint’s voice is strained, and Laura has a sinking feeling it’s probably not from the exertion of the hike. She tries to think of something to break up what has suddenly become a tension-filled quiet.

“I mean, we could get married in a monastery,” she says after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, and Clint makes a wounded noise behind her.

“Are you serious?”

“Clint, relax. I’m kidding.” Laura pivots, reaching for her water as he pulls up the rear. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. And I thought you’d be used to my sarcasm by now.”

“Yeah, that’s the whole reason I wanted to marry you,” Clint grumbles and Laura snorts out a laugh as she starts to move up the trail again. She’s reaching for a foothold just out of reach when she hears a sudden shout followed by a cry of pain, and she twists around with one hand on a rock, just in time to see Clint collapse a few feet behind her.

“Clint!”

She fights her way back down the slippery slope of a dirt path, until she manages to reach where he’s sprawled out on the ground, groaning, his backpack lying next to him. Laura crouches down, running her hands over his face, searching for any palpable injuries.

“Clint, what happened?”

“The tree happened,” Clint says through gritted teeth. “And my ankle happened.” He flings a hand towards a large, ugly root sticking up from the ground. From the way the dirt and plants are kicked up around it, Laura thinks it must have been half-hidden before it was stumbled over. She turns her attention back to Clint, who is cursing quietly, and slides her hand underneath his head, feeling the beginnings of a large goose egg on the back of his scalp.

“How’s your vision?”

“What? Fine,” he says, closing his eyes and then opening them to glare. “I didn’t hit my head _that_ hard.”

Laura frowns, not entirely willing to give him the benefit of the doubt given the fact that she has no idea what it _actually_ takes to cause a serious concussion. She glances down at his ankle. “Can you stand?”

Clint makes a face and tries to get up. When he does, his right leg immediately buckles, causing him to stumble and go down again. Laura catches him by the arm, hauling him up.

“Forget it. We’re going home.”

Clint looks visibly pained, and also a little pale. “No. It's fine, Laur. I can make it.”

“Seriously?” Laura pulls her head back to stare at his face, the way his hair is falling into his eyes, the blood that’s trickling down from a small surface cut on his temple. “Absolutely not, Clint. You’re hurt. I have no idea if you have any sort of serious head injury, but at the very least, you _need_ to ice that ankle.”

He grumbles under his breath but Laura notices he doesn’t refute, and she knows him well enough to recognize that if he’s not fighting her on something, it means he’s conceding defeat on it.

“I ruined the whole thing,” he says miserably as she helps turn him around, hobbling back down the path, leaning his weight on her.

“No, you didn’t,” Laura promises. “And I’d rather have you sitting at home than sitting in the hospital with a broken leg. Or did you forget that you have a job that requires you to be on your feet all day?”

He sighs again and Laura can tell he’s probably not going to shut up about his misery for the entire ride home. He doesn’t, but by the time they get back to the house, she doesn’t actually find herself feeling annoyed. Instead, she feels sad, especially when he reaches what she’s pretty sure is his tenth apology.

“I know you really wanted to make this day special,” she says gently when they finally park, turning around in the driver’s seat. She reaches for his face, running a hand down his cheek. “ _I know_. You have these...all these beautiful, grand ideas about how to give me the world, Clint. You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t appreciate that?”

He swallows tightly, and nods.

“Nothing about this day, or this trip, is ruined just because you didn’t see a tree branch,” she continues. “Being out here with you has made me so happy. You  _proposed_ to me. We sat by the fire and roasted marshmallows. We walked in the rain. And you’re going to marry me.”

He nods again. “Yeah. I am.”

Laura pauses to scrape her hand through his hair. “Which means that we have a _lifetime_ to hike a trail and see the sunset.”

Clint breathes in slow intervals, as if he’s trying to compose himself, and Laura doesn’t know if it’s because of the pain or some other emotion but she keeps her fingers at the base of his neck anyway, running her nails in soothing circles over his sunburned skin.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks the question in a tone that’s confused and grateful, and Laura smiles.

“Because I love you. And because I hope that one day, when I’m upset about something, you’ll remind me -- or someone else in your life -- that they can be _enough_ by just having someone love them back. Okay?”

Clint smiles, his eyes clearing. “Okay.”

“Okay. Come on, old man,” and she fights to keep her grin from showing as he winces. “Let’s get you into the house.” Laura helps Clint out of the car and into the door, settling him on one of the two large overstuffed chairs in the indoor porch. She elevates his foot on a small side table and the bends down to remove his boots and shoes.

“Might just be a sprain,” she says, leaning over to inspect his now bare ankle, which is definitely swelling but otherwise looks normal. “You can put weight on it, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, although he sounds a little uncertain. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”

Laura sighs, rubbing his shoulder. “I’ll get you some ice,” she says, straightening up and walking to the kitchen. She’s not quite sure why there’s a trove of ice packs sitting in the fridge when her family hasn't been out here for years -- maybe it was a standard practice for people who kept places out in the woods, Laura finds herself thinking -- but she’s nonetheless grateful for their presence. When she returns to the room holding a frozen pack, a towel, and two beers, she’s relieved to find that Clint’s still in the chair with his leg up, though Laura also immediately notices that his pants are gone.

“They were dirty,” Clint says by way of explanation, gesturing towards where the clothes lie in a heap on the floor. Laura raises an eyebrow, wondering how he managed to get out of them without causing himself more pain.

“I’m sure. Here. This is for your ankle.” She carefully places the wrapped ice pack on his foot, steadying it against the place where the skin is swelling the most. “And this is for us.” She hands him one of the bottles, which he takes with a small smile as she sits next to him.

“I can’t believe you’re serving a _bartender_ Bud Light,” Clint complains as he takes a drink. Laura groans.

“I can’t believe you’re using the holier-art-thou profession crap on me when you know that’s all we brought with us,” she returns, poking him in the side with her arm. She leans over to put her drink on the floor and then picks up his backpack, which she’d brought in earlier.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks curiously as she opens it, unearthing the contents.

“Snuck a peek into that bag you were carrying,” Laura says, taking out an oversized blanket. “You’re not the only one who can prepare things behind someone’s back.” She spreads the large cloth over both of their legs, pulling it up to their shoulders as she leans in, moving her chair so that they’re practically on top of each other. “I know you wanted to hike that trail, but a sunset over the water is still pretty nice. And I can’t think of a better way to spend my first day of being officially engaged than by looking at the place where it happened.” She throws him a smile, and notices his eyes look a little too glassy.

“I tried,” Clint says, as if he doesn’t know what else to say. Laura kisses him, settling into his side.

“You did. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She can’t see his expression but feels him relax as he takes her hand and stares out over the lake at the ripples of water, the small, round circle of yellow that’s starting to dip hesitantly from the sky and towards the earth.

“I’m sorry,” Clint says when he speaks again, and Laura closes her eyes, suppressing a sigh.

“Again? Clint, we’ve been over this. Dozens of times, at this point.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, let me finish, Laur. Please?” His voice is teetering somewhere between hysterical and vulnerable, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how, and Laura squeezes his palm encouragingly. It had taken her far too long to pick up on the tells that Clint normally keeps hidden, even in her presence. But now that she recognizes them, she finds that she’s also becoming more in tune with his mind, with knowing what she can and can't push him to share.

“What is it?”

“I...I’m sorry for making things weird before. When you mentioned the church.” He takes a breath. “I guess I never thought about it, either, until you brought it up. It just caught me off guard.”

“Clint…” Laura feels her throat close up. “Look, maybe I was the little girl who grew up watching television shows that always showed the big, grandiose wedding parties in beautiful churches, and got it in my head that’s what things were supposed to be. Maybe that’s an ideal I always had for myself, without knowing it. But this isn’t something we need to decide right now. And trust me when I say that I’m open to getting married _anywhere_. I don't care if I get married in a church or in a temple or on an airplane. The most important thing is that I’m with you.”

“I know,” Clint says quietly. “I know. I just...I dunno, Laura. I stopped believing in religion awhile ago, when things went bad with my parents, and before I joined the military. Never really felt like believing in a higher power was something that fit me...all that mumbo jumbo about God and forgiveness and praying and thinking you'll be taken care of as long as you were a good person. It never seemed like it was something I could get behind. And I love you, but getting married in a church, it just feels…” He trails off helplessly, and Laura cuddles closer.

“Strange?” She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, warm under the blanket, and he nods. Laura rests her head on his shoulder.

“We could get married here.”

Clint jerks up, turning his head so that he can meet her eyes. “ _Here_?”

“Why not?” It had caught her off guard, when the thought first came to her, so much so that she had wondered if it was silly to say it out loud. But Laura realizes that the more she thinks about it, the more she likes the idea. “There’s no law that says you have to get married anywhere religious. People get married on army bases all the time, right? I’ve seen it with my dad, and I know you probably have, too.” She smiles again. “This is a place that’s important to my family, and now it’s important to us, too. It’s local, and it’s pretty, and I think it would be perfect for next summer. If you still want to marry me by then,” she finishes teasingly. Clint laughs.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he responds, his voice just as playful, but when he pulls his head away there’s distinct wariness setting into the lines of his face, a fear that she knows he won't say out loud. “You sure about this? About getting married here, with me, like this?”

Laura nods, because she’s realizing that there are certain things about her life -- like her love for Clint, like his proposal -- that she _knows_ are right, even if she can’t explain why. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Honestly, Clint...I can’t think of anything or any place more perfect.”

He kisses her gently, letting his lips rest against her skin. “Me, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura's engagement ring is based on what was seen in AoU -- although it's unclear whether the ring she wears on her finger is her wedding band or her engagement ring, given that she only wears one (and could have easily chosen to keep the engagement ring somewhere else, or visa versa.)


	8. 2010

It’s Clint’s idea to throw a baby shower, even though Laura insists she doesn’t need one.

“Come on,” he pushes while they’re all in bed together. “We didn’t have one for Cooper. And it’s a good idea. Natasha thinks it’s a _great_ idea. Right, Tasha?”

Natasha grunts somewhere beside him and Laura doesn’t blame her, between the comfort of the bed and the fact that they had both been traveling for over forty-eight hours before they had arrived at the farm, she’s not surprised Natasha’s too passed out to fully participate in the conversation.

“She does,” Clint decides in the dark room, and Laura sighs.

“I’m not trying to be Debbie Downer, Clint, but I don’t think I need a baby shower.”

“Why not?” He turns over in bed, extracting himself from what Laura knows is probably Natasha’s steel grip, because she tended to become that much more vulnerable when they were all together.

“Because.” She stops, realizing she doesn’t have another rebuttal. Her hesitancy certainly doesn’t come from lack of friends or family, but Laura isn’t quite used to making a big deal out of her pregnancy. Cooper had come into their lives quietly, something she had shared intimately with Clint and no one else at the time, thanks to the circumstances. Natasha’s inclusion since then had been unexpected, but Laura knows she can’t imagine her not being involved -- and there’s a part of her that wants to keep this to the two people she trusts outside of her parents.

“Come on,” Clint prods again. “Just a small one. A few friends from work, school, Cooper’s baseball group, maybe. We’ll do it here, I’ll even invite your mom and dad.”

“Oh, now you’re really pushing it,” Laura teases, leaning over to kiss him gently. The truth is, she loves that Clint’s being so proactive and she loves that he’s taken such an interest in making this experience special for her. It was something he’d done from the moment she’d found out she was pregnant, and something that had, admittedly, gotten more intense once they confirmed the gender of their new child. Clint had grown up with a brother, Cooper had been his little boy, but a little girl was something he hadn’t yet experienced.

“I can hear you thinking,” Clint adds, and Laura groans.

“Fine. Throw me a baby shower. But please, don’t make it a big ordeal.”

“Laura.” Clint brushes hair from her eyes. “You’ve got two highly trained SHIELD agents who love you and who are taking care of this. Being stealth is practically part of our job.”

“In the field,” Laura retorts, but she can’t help the smile that she knows is shadowing her face. “You’re lucky that I love you.”

“What about me?” Natasha asks tiredly from behind Clint’s back and Laura bites back a laugh, unaware that Natasha has woken up. She props herself up on one elbow and gazes at her fondly, even though she can barely see Natasha in the dark.

“Don’t worry, Nat. I love you, too.” As if to prove her point, she pushes over so that there’s more room on the bed, and so Natasha can close in further on Clint’s side, draping her arm over his body.

“We need a bigger bed,” Clint mutters as he presses his cheek to Laura’s breast and she closes her eyes.

“I thought you _liked_ cuddling.”

“I like being able to move, too. This is as bad as the safehouse I got sent to on my first mission.”

“Hmmm. You still want that waterbed that you were set on when we moved in together?”

Clint doesn’t answer but Natasha cuddles him more in return, and Laura falls back asleep with a contented grin.

 

***

 

Clint’s true to his word, and despite the fact that he does go somewhat overboard with decorations and food, Laura’s baby shower is a decently small affair -- her parents and a handful of friends, Hannah and her husband Dave from next door, two ladies from Cooper’s Little League, the mother of a son Cooper has taken to having playdates with and a few of Laura’s colleagues from Iowa State. Natasha keeps her interactions perfunctory and simple, mostly keeping an eye on Cooper when Laura’s parents can’t, while Clint works the makeshift bar he’s set up and records gift givings. Laura, for her part, fields the many questions about names, pregnancy experiences, and, “it’s so exciting you’re having a girl, little girls are just the best...aren’t you _so happy_ your son will have a sibling?” It’s after six when Laura’s parents finally leave and by the time she shoves them out the door, she’s so exhausted she feels like she could sleep for a week.

“I need this baby to come and I need it to come now,” Laura declares after everyone has left and Natasha is cleaning up the kitchen. Cooper has retired to his room for a nap, having worn himself out with what Laura suspects is far too much sugar, and Clint smiles as he finishes piling the gifts by the stairs.

“Not before Nat and I give you our presents,” he says and Laura raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do with all these,” she complains, gesturing to the large boxes that she still feels are all too much, the baby carriers and outfits and strollers and car seats. “What did you guys get me? A SHIELD-issued crib?”

“Not quite,” Clint says with a wink, putting his hand on his hips. “This gift has no financials attached to it whatsoever. Doesn’t even come in any type of box.” Laura watches him suppress a grin and when she glances over at Natasha, she's cagily avoiding her eyes.

“I don’t know whether to be excited or scared,” she admits as Natasha throws some plastic cups in the trash, wiping her hands on her shirt.

“Come on, Laura.” Her eyes look tired -- a result, Laura suspects, of being more “on” than she’s used to while at the farm. “Trust us.”

“You know that I do,” she replies automatically, watching Clint head upstairs. Natasha walks over and hugs Laura from behind, her hands dropping to her stomach.

“Hi,” Laura says quietly as Natasha buries her face in her hair, letting herself fall into a moment that she knows she rarely gets, especially when all three of them are home at the same time.

“Hi,” Natasha breathes back, nipping gently at Laura’s earlobe and causing her to shiver. She feels Natasha smile, the pressure of lips and teeth sending a soft tingle across her skin. “Ready for your gift?”

Laura bites down on a moan. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you guys conspire together.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks innocently, twisting her head so that she can meet Laura’s gaze head-on. “Conspiring together is what we do best... _especially_ when it comes to you.” She kisses Laura quickly and then moves away, putting her hand on the her arm. “Come on.”

Laura gives her another look but lets Natasha lead her up the stairs. When she gets to the top and starts heading towards the bedroom out of instinct, Natasha tugs her in the opposite direction.

“Nat, what --”

She’s only then aware of Natasha pushing open the bathroom door and the faint sound of rushing water. When she walks inside, Natasha closing the door behind them, she’s greeted with a half naked Clint and a full tub, and a few bottles sitting on the ledge where most of the usual toys and shampoo have been cleaned off.

“Clint?”

“Told you this gift wasn’t something you could buy,” he says, his eyes shining with an emotion Laura thinks she hasn’t seen for far too long. “Come on, Laur. Get in.”

Laura half-smiles, undressing slowly and only a little self-consciously, knowing Clint and Natasha are watching from both in front and behind.

“I’m a whale,” she jokes as she looks down at her huge stomach, trying to deflect her growing discomfort as Clint helps her step into the bath.

“A beautiful whale,” he adds, and Natasha gives him a look. “What? She’s my wife.”

Laura leans back, situating herself in the water, which is slightly hot but more warm than burning. She sighs on instinct, closing her eyes as the heat permeates her skin.

“Good?” Clint asks and then there’s the faint smell of lavender as Clint’s hands work their way down and across her shoulders in the same gentle manner that Laura uses when she’s checking him for injuries.

“Yes,” Laura says quietly, not realizing how much she’s needed the comfort of having someone take care of her. She can hear Clint humming to himself, and then there’s a soft pair of lips on her own, the silver chain of Natasha’s arrow necklace swinging gently against Laura’s skin as she bends over further, putting a hand on Laura’s breast.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, dropping her fingers to Laura’s stomach, gently rubbing the swollen skin, and Laura finds herself wondering how someone who’s lived through a lifetime of so much hardness can have such a soft, comforting touch. “ _She’ll_ be beautiful.”

Laura’s eyes burn with unshed tears as Natasha’s hands swim in the water, continuing to massage her stomach while Clint pushes Laura’s body upwards so that he can move his hands further over her back, kissing her shoulder blades every so often.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she says when she finds her voice again, opening her eyes to meet Natasha’s gentle gaze. Clint leans over, resting his cheek against her hair.

“We love you, Laur. That’s kind of the point.”

 

***

 

Lila Barton arrives unexpectedly and two weeks early, making her grand entrance on a January day in which the weather turns cold and blustery, small flurries descending from the sky with a fury that causes Clint to break out the homemade hot chocolate recipe while Natasha and Laura huddle on the couch with blankets, and Cooper lies against his mom reading his newest book.

While Cooper’s birth had made Laura altogether tired and cranky, Lila, for some reason, has been an even worse experience. Laura figures that whatever higher entity she sold her soul to in order to avoid morning sickness has made it up to her in every other way, because between cramps and exhaustion, she knows she’s not doing the two most important people in her life any favors. Despite Natasha’s help and Clint’s overwhelming coddling that at this point has gone from being annoying to actually helpful, she’d spent more time than usual feeling helpless and upset about her condition, soothed only by Natasha’s late night kisses and Clint’s gentle stomach rubs.

While Clint gathers freshly washed mugs from the cupboard, Laura eases herself off the couch and away from Cooper’s head, getting up slowly with help from the armrest as Natasha looks up quizzically and in concern.

“Bathroom,” Laura says by way of explanation, gesturing towards her uterus and Natasha smiles briefly before going back to the book that she’s borrowed from Clint and Laura’s overstocked shelves. Laura makes it halfway across the room before she suddenly stops short.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says quietly, putting her hands on her stomach as she bends over, and Clint immediately abandons the milk simmering on the stove while Natasha shoots up off the couch.

“Laura?”

“I think…” There’s a loud _plop_ , the sensation of something wet against her skin, and then Laura looks up with a small grin. “I think my water just broke.”

“You -- you’re going into labor?” Clint asks a little too excitedly, and Cooper perks up from his spot on the couch, his book forgotten.

“Mommy’s having a baby?”

“Mommy’s having a baby!” Clint confirms a little too happily, and Natasha starts grinning, pushing hair back from her face. Laura matches her smile.

“Calm down, Clint. It’s not a national emergency.”

“It’s a national emergency to me,” he declares. “We’re having a baby!”

“Again,” Laura adds, throwing Natasha a look, suddenly realizing she looks a little too apprehensive. There was a good and bad component to Natasha having ingrained herself so much in their family, the bad part, Laura knows, being that sometimes she forgets that Natasha hasn’t been around for most of these types of moments -- and that for as much as she was now comfortable, there were definitely situations that were entirely new to her.

“We’re having a baby, Nat.”

“ _You’re_ having a baby,” Natasha corrects and her voice sounds a little sad, despite her wide smile. Laura gives her a sidelong glance as Clint runs upstairs to grab the bag Laura knows she’s pre-packed for just this purpose, while Natasha helps Cooper get his coat on and then drapes what has become the communal terrycloth sweatshirt over Laura’s body. She groans.

“I’m not going into shock,” she says lightly as Natasha steers her towards the door, Cooper trailing behind.

“I don’t care,” Natasha replies. “It’s snowing and it’s cold, and I get to take care of you right now, so you have no say in this.”

Laura smiles again as Natasha opens the car door, securing her in the passenger seat; the sweatshirt is warm and soft against her skin and comforting in a way she can’t quite describe. She smiles at the memory of Clint’s voice telling her that she might need it if it got too cold; moments later, Clint’s closing the door to the farmhouse and sliding into the minivan, Cooper and Natasha piling into the back while Cooper chatters excitedly about his potential sibling. Laura’s OBGYN meets them when they get to the hospital and up to the floor that houses the Labor and Delivery unit.

“My favorite patients,” says Dr. Joelle Klein, a smile inching over her wide brown face. “I should’ve known that if I wore my lucky scrub cap today, I’d get the Barton family.”

“Lucky for you, lucky for us,” Clint says, waving his arms around. “Our baby decided to make an early appearance.”

“So it seems.” Dr. Klein helps ease Laura into a wheelchair before patting her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Laura. We’ll get you taken care of and we’ll make sure your baby comes out perfectly.”

“You better,” Clint says, and Natasha rolls her eyes in the background.

“Good to see you too, Mr. Barton.” Dr. Klein’s eyes are sparkling as she gives him a wink. “Been a few years.”

“Almost seven,” Clint says proudly, gesturing towards Cooper, who’s suddenly become shy and very interested in the linoleum floor. Dr. Klein smiles again.

“We’ll get her set up in a room if you guys want to relax for a bit.” She bends down, angling towards Laura. “And depending on how far along you are, we’ll figure out when to induce. Sound good?”

“Sounds excellent,” Laura says optimistically. “I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.”

Dr. Klein laughs. “Getting pregnant so that you deliver around the end of the year or so tends to do that to people,” she says, straightening up. “If your baby had been born a few weeks earlier, we could’ve put her in a stocking for you, like we do for all the babies born around Christmas.”

“Don’t tell that to my husband, he might _still_ try to do it,” Laura says warily as Clint walks over and bends down to kiss her.

“Already considering it, actually. See you soon, Laur.”

Natasha squeezes Laura’s hand. “Love you,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper and Laura looks up, smiles, mouthing _I love you too_ as Natasha lets go of her fingers. Clint reaches for his son’s arm as Dr. Klein starts wheeling Laura down the hall, then lets out a long sigh.

“Come on, Coop. I need to call grandma and grandpa, and then we’ll see if we can find the gift shop. Get you some cool stuff to pass the time, okay?”

“And then a baby?” Cooper asks excitedly, swinging Clint’s hand.

“And then a baby,” he promises, leading Cooper through the halls of the hospital while Natasha follows behind.

 

***

 

When Elizabeth and Bob arrive, they take over watching Cooper, who has been busied with new toys and a coloring book while Natasha and Clint make their way to Laura’s room. Clint had been worried, initially, about bringing Natasha along for the actual birth of their child, because he was more than aware of the legal stipulations surrounding polyamorous relationships, especially when it came to who was allowed in a delivery room. It was something he hadn't bothered to think about until Laura had brought it up, and until he had realized that all of their more serious hospital stays had involved SHIELD, where rules didn't matter so much so long as you had the right authority from other places. Thankfully, when Laura had met with Dr. Klein and inquired about the situation, they had found that the hospital Laura had chosen to have her baby at seemed to have no problem with allowing both Clint and Natasha to be in the room together. And although they hadn't exactly come clean about Natasha to Dr. Klein, her closeness with Laura and Clint -- and the fact that Natasha had been there for the ultrasound -- was an added beacon of support in their favor. 

To that end, Clint's stopped pestering Laura about if she was ever going to tell her parents about her feelings for Natasha, because he knows it’s not his place to force her to open up about that, and quite frankly, he enjoys having something of a little secret when it came to their relationship. Still, he finds himself nervous that his in-laws are going to wonder why Clint’s work partner, of all people, was tagging along with their daughter’s husband to watch her give birth -- until he learns that Laura's regaled her parents with tales of how Natasha has practically become her best friend over the years, especially during Clint’s frequent absences. And while Clint’s surprised they buy that excuse (as true as it is), he’s also not going to knock it, especially since the time alone gives him a brief moment to poke at Natasha’s mood change and the silence that he’s noticed has taken up residence since they had left the house.

“What’s up with you?” Clint asks as they stop outside Laura’s door. “You’ve been quiet ever since Laura went into labor.”

“I’m fine,” Natasha says dully, her voice so patented that Clint wants to smack her.

“Clearly, you’re not. Come on, Nat. We’ve been talking about this for months...you’ve been so supportive. What’s going on?”

Natasha’s eyes flash, her gaze narrowing. “You think I’m suddenly not being _supportive_?” She turns him around so that they’re facing the wall and so that their conversation is mostly hidden from everyone else that’s milling through the halls. “Look, it’s just...you know that I can’t have kids, so forgive me if it’s a little heart wrenching to see a woman I love going through that.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Clint feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. “Nat…” He reaches out, and Natasha flinches away.

“Clint, please. Not now. I want to be here for Laura. I want to share this without bringing up my past, okay?”

Clint nods slowly. “Okay,” he allows, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Then we’ll talk later, if you want.”

Natasha nods back and Clint takes another moment to compose himself before opening the door, only to be greeted with a very sweaty and very frustrated looking Laura.

“I thought the birth of a second child was supposed to be easier,” Clint remarks as he slides into a chair. Laura grimaces.

“Give me some of that good stuff you guys get in the field and I’ll reconsider that statement.” She glances over at Natasha, who takes her hand and smiles.

“I’ll ready the emergency med kit,” Natasha teases, though Clint wonders how much she’s actually kidding, and Laura’s lips curl in tired mirth.

“Thank god.”

Dr. Klein is back in the room fifteen minutes after Clint and Natasha help Laura through another long contraction, situating herself at the foot of the bed and instructing Laura to push, push, _push_. Natasha squeezes Laura’s hand as she cries out, burying her face in Clint’s shirt, and after one particularly loud scream there’s the addition of another scream, this one more shrill -- and then Lila Barton is being held in the arms of a nurse and Laura is collapsing back onto the pillow, her breaths labored and her face streaked with tears.

“You did good,” Clint murmurs, leaning over to stroke her hair. “You did so good, Laur. We’ve got another kid.” Natasha is beaming next to her, still holding her hand tightly.

“You’ve got a daughter, Mr. Barton,” the nurse says from somewhere behind him, and when he turns around, a small bundle is being offered in his direction. “Would you like to do the honors?"

She gestures to the umbilical cord and Clint nods wordlessly, cutting the cord, all the breath and language disappearing from his body as he stares at the squirming, small child. He had felt this way with Cooper, he remembers that now, but Clint thinks that no matter how many kids he ends up having in his lifetime, he’s never going to outgrow the whole process that comes with experiencing the miracle of life. The nurse slides the now-swaddled baby gently into Clint’s arms and he blinks back tears as she starts to sniffle and cry.

“Hey...hey, Lila baby.” He hadn’t been sure, at first, if he agreed with Laura's choice of name for their daughter, despite keeping in their tradition of naming their children after the same letters of their own name -- Cooper was different enough from Clint, but he had wondered if Lila was a little _too_ close to Laura. Now, however, he realizes he can’t see her as anything _but_ Lila.

“I'm your daddy and I love you,” Clint whispers, bringing her to the bed and bending down so that Laura can see. He eases Lila into her arms and it’s Laura’s turn to cry as she nuzzles her daughter’s tiny face.

“Welcome to the world, Lila baby,” she adds, before looking up as the nurses start to clear out of the room to give them some semblance of space. Clint glances around and is surprised to find Natasha still standing at the side of the bed, holding herself in a way that seems a little too tense.

“Nat, you want to hold her for a bit?”

“Oh.” Natasha looks startled, shaking her head quickly. “No. That’s okay. You take care of her...I’ll just wait until later.”

“Nonsense.” Laura sounds both concerned and frustrated. “This child is going to be yours as much as it will be ours. Don’t you want to hold her?”

“I...I don’t…” she trails off, her face paling uncharacteristically, and Laura blinks a few times.

“Nat.” She smiles sadly, searching her face with exhausted eyes, and Clint’s not surprised when Laura hits the nail on the head with little else to go off of. “You don’t know how to hold a baby?”

“I know how to hold a baby,” Natasha responds tightly, almost immediately. “But I’ve never held one before. Not...not like this.”

Clint sucks in a breath as Natasha says the words, because while he’s been able to put a lot of things about Natasha's previous life behind him -- because _that_ Natasha didn’t exist anymore, and he knows it -- the thought of her mishandling and possibly killing babies as small as his newborn makes him feel suddenly sick.

“That’s okay,” Laura says gently, her voice a soft lullaby in the silence. “Sit down. We can teach you.”

Natasha’s hesitant look doesn’t change but she obliges, sinking down into the open chair.

“Okay,” Laura says again, motioning for Clint to take the baby from her. “Put your arms together. Like a cradle.” She gestures to how Clint is currently holding Lila and Natasha swallows hard, curling her arms until she’s all but clutching each side of her elbow.

“Like this?”

“Good,” Laura says quietly. “Remember to support the baby’s head. That’s the most important thing. One hand under the skull, like this, and the other supporting the body. She can rest on your arm as long as she’s supported. And hold her to your chest -- newborns love skin-to-skin contact in the first few hours after they’re born. It’s why the mothers always hold them the longest.” When Natasha looks up with a start, Laura smiles encouragingly again, and Clint starts to walk towards her.

“Just focus on holding her like that,” Laura continues as Clint bends down, allowing her to finally take the baby. There’s a noticeable tremor that travels through Natasha’s body when Lila is finally resting against her skin, but after a moment or so, Clint notices that she relaxes, clutching the small child tightly. Per Laura’s instructions, she brings Lila closer, and the baby snuggles against her.

“Hey.” Laura grins, turning so she can see the scene better. “I think she likes you.”

Natasha manages a smile back. “She’s a baby. She's about fifteen minutes old...she likes everyone, probably.”

“Untrue,” Clint points out, sitting down on the bed next to his wife and leaning back until they’re practically on top of one another. “Babies are fickle. They either take to you or they don’t. We learned that the hard way. Cooper barely lasted five seconds with Laura’s parents the first time, and I think they thought we had a devil child.” He’s trying to keep his voice light but there are tears in his eyes that he can’t seem to stop, and suddenly, he realizes that he doesn’t care. He knows this moment won’t last -- he knows that they’ll have to bring his son and Laura’s parents in eventually and it’ll break the mood -- but he tries to forget about that in favor of focusing on the two people in the room who are sharing what Clint thinks might be the most intimate moment of his life, despite the fact none of them are doing anything sexual. When Laura sniffles and puts her head on his shoulder, he lets his tears fall openly, not caring who sees him cry.

“You can stay there like that,” Laura says quietly when Natasha doesn’t move, except to kiss the baby’s small head. “If you want.”

Natasha does.

 

***

 

“Next time,” says Natasha as the truck bumps along the road full of potholes, “we’re taking a quinjet.”

“Ugh.” Clint wrinkles his nose. “C’mon, Nat. Has preparing to go work for Stark made that much of a prude?”

“A _prude_ would be if I didn’t have sex,” Natasha shoots back. “Which, if I remember correctly, I did. Last night. Several times, in fact. The comfort of my body in this car is another story.”

“Well, thankfully, your discomfort is almost at an end,” Clint says as he turns the car down a long dirt road. “It’s not like we drove cross-country, anyway.”

“We drove from Atlanta, Barton. That’s pretty damn far.”

“You haven’t been the one driving,” Clint says moodily, shifting in the seat. “But you know what? I don’t even care, because I’ll be glad to take that massage from Laura off of your hands. You don’t get to pull rank on this.”

Natasha pouts and Clint grins, because he thinks it’s probably the only time he’s seen Natasha look visibly put out. Normally, it’s her that gets the special treatment, since Clint’s home more often.

“Careful, or your face will freeze like that.”

Natasha ignores him, putting her feet up on the dash as Clint continues to steer the car down the road, past the fences and animal farms and the one single winery. The space eventually grows from barren land and dirt to a lusher environment, the top of the house peeking out from behind a large set of trees, and Clint sighs loudly as they turn the last corner.

“Finally,” he mutters, bringing the car to a stop at the edge of the road that leads to the farm. Natasha shoots him a look.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He runs his tongue over his lips. He knows she hasn’t missed how jittery he'd been during the whole drive, thinking too much of Lila, his mind overrun with worries about if he’d missed so much at home that his daughter wouldn’t even want to look at him when he walked in the door. “It’s just been too goddamn long.”

(“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha had said when she figured out why he was driving ninety miles an hour, and Clint appreciated the concern but he'd also had to bite his tongue from opening up about his fear that his child might not even recognize his face. Two months after Lila’s birth had taken both of them on a whirlwind trio of international missions spanning another entire month, from Munich to Rome to Denmark. It was bad enough that Clint missed Cooper's seventh birthday, but it didn't help that despite video phone calls and photos and constant updates, all Clint had been able to focus on when he wasn’t consumed with taking a shot or mapping out an assignment was how much he was missing of his daughter’s life.)

The sky is growing dim by the time they approach the house but the porch light is already on, and Natasha nods towards it while Clint opens the door. 

“Honey? I’m home.” He leans over to put his bag on the floor, making sure not to cause any extraneous noise just in case, and hears the soft padding of footsteps in the hallway before Cooper’s gangly frame throws itself into his arms.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Clint leans down and circles his arm around Cooper’s shoulder, hugging him close. “You got big. What’s mom feeding you that’s making you grow so much?”

“Nothing,” Laura says, emerging from the top of the staircase with Lila in a baby sling. “If you can believe that. I’m assuming he somehow got my father’s genes.”

Clint raises an eyebrow as she carefully starts down towards them. “That means you’re gonna be _bigger_ than daddy soon,” he says, rubbing his head as Cooper twists away.

“Nat!”

Natasha smiles. “You _did_ get big,” she says, bending down as Cooper opens his arms for a hug. “How’s school?”

“Good. We’re learning about dinosaurs and math and history now.”

“Dinosaurs and math _and_ history?” Natasha puts her hands on her knees, getting up. “I hope you’re still doing your homework every night.” She straightens just in time for Laura to kiss her as Cooper scampers off to finish watching what Clint faintly recognizes by the theme song as _Looney Tunes_.

“Welcome home,” Laura says softly, inclining her head towards the sling around her shoulder, and Natasha peers into it.

“She’s so _little_.”

Natasha’s voice sounds strange, too fragile, and Clint suddenly realizes that he’s taken for granted the fact that she’s over here so much now and also so close to them. While Natasha had seen Lila’s birth and been around for mostly everything after, Clint knows she's not accustomed to seeing the actual growth of babies. Lila’s technically bigger than what Clint feels comfortable with, but he guesses that Natasha wouldn’t know that.

“Don’t believe everything you see. She may be small, but when she cries, she’ll keep you up for hours,” Laura says with a tired grin. “Still better than the nightmare that was my other child, though. Clint, you want to hold her?”

It’s not even a question he bothers to answer before reaching into the sling, picking up Lila, whose legs kick out on instinct. She starts to cry, but reflex takes over and a familiar comfort soon finds its way into Clint’s limbs, a learned practice from all the nights he’d spent holding his son. Once Clint starts cradling her, Lila stops crying, looking up in surprise and gurgling quietly.

“She just ate so she’s a little fussy, but she’ll be okay,” Laura says as Clint jiggles her gently, turning around in a circle.

“Hey, Lila baby. Daddy’s home. Daddy’s going to take good care of you now, and he loves you and he's never going to leave you for this long again.”

Lila’s response is to spit up all over Clint’s shirt, and he looks up at Laura, smiling wryly.

“Would you believe I even missed getting puked on?”

“Considering how long you’ve been away?” Laura asks with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I would. On that note, since you’re both home and seem to have no problem taking care of our child, I’m getting dinner started.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint replies as Laura kisses him, before retreating to the kitchen. Clint glances over at Natasha. “My kid’s cute, right? You wanna take her for a bit?”

He swears he sees Natasha’s whole body tense at the question, and not subtly. “No,” she says almost too quickly. “That’s okay. I’m going to get changed and then help Laura with dinner.” She backs away, picking up her bag and walking up the stairs, and Clint watches her go with a frown as Lila burps a few more times.

“What’s up with Nat?” Laura asks from somewhere behind him, and Clint turns to see her standing just outside of the kitchen, holding a frozen chicken in one hand.

“Dunno,” Clint replies, though he’s pretty sure he does -- or at least, he’s got an idea behind why. “Maybe she’s just tired.”

Laura’s skeptical look tells him she believes anything _but_ the fact that Natasha’s tired, despite the fact that she simply shrugs and goes back to cooking. Clint lets out a breath, walking into living room and sitting down on the couch.

“Yeah, daddy missed you,” he says, lifting the baby up so that her legs are balanced against his chest. “But he saw all of your pictures. All of them. And mommy was really good about telling me everything about you. I know your favorite songs and your favorite toys and even your favorite bottle.” He feels his throat close up as he talks, and forces himself to keep his emotions under a lid.

“Takes after her dad,” Laura says, bringing Clint a cup of fresh coffee, and Clint looks up in confusion.

“What?”

“That face.” Laura smiles, sitting down next to him. “That little nose scrunch she does sometimes? That’s the same look I’ve seen you make when you’re thinking about something.”

Clint chuckles. “She’s got your eyes, though.”

“Well, my mother certainly thinks so,” Laura says with a small sigh. “Are you okay with her for awhile? I could really use a nap. She barely slept last night.”

Clint nods, kissing the side of Laura’s head. “Go,” he says, waving his free hand around before letting it settle on his daughter’s back. “I need some time alone with her, anyway. I’ll even make sure dinner doesn’t burn.”

“If you can make a frozen chicken defrost faster, I’ll be thoroughly impressed,” Laura answers dryly. “Also, Cooper’s been in front of that television for the past hour, but as long as he’s amusing himself, I don’t see why he can’t keep watching. Maybe Natasha can keep him company.”

“Feel free to send her down,” Clint says, smoothing down a tuft of Lila’s hair that’s sticking straight up in an almost comical way. “I know she loves those old cartoons.”

“She hates them,” Laura says with a fond smile and Clint laughs, because he’ll never _not_ love how nice it is to be home.

“I know.”

 

***

 

Normally, three in the morning feedings aren’t Clint’s favorite thing in the world. But when he’s missed out on most of them, he finds he doesn’t even care when Laura pokes him with her foot as soon as Lila’s wails start to reach a level that they can’t tune out.

“Hey, Lila baby...hey, baby girl.” He picks her up, placing her on his shoulder and rubbing her back. “What’s wrong, princess? You hungry?”

Lila’s response is to cry more and Clint hoists her in his arm, walking out of the room. “Yeah, I figured. Let’s get you downstairs and maybe mommy can try to sleep for once.”

“Slim chance,” Laura mutters inaudibly from the bed and Clint half-smiles as he closes the door, walking carefully down the stairs with his daughter balanced in both arms.

“Hey,” he says when goes to switch on the light in the kitchen, surprised to find Natasha sitting at the table reading a book. “What are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep,” she says quietly, closing the book and putting it on the table, and Clint finds himself feeling uneasy. Since Lila’s birth, Natasha has been alternating between sleeping on the couch and in the guest bedroom that they had since turned into her own personal room. Laura had tried to protest against Natasha's decision to keep her distance when it came to sharing a bed, shrugging off Natasha’s attempts to give them space despite the baby in the room, but Natasha had been unwavering.

“You know you can come upstairs, right? Sleep with us? I mean, Laura and I get up and you’re gonna hear Lila either way.”

Natasha smiles tightly. “I know,” she says with a nod. “It’s not about Lila. I just...I didn’t want to wake you guys.”

Clint doesn’t immediately respond, instead going to the fridge to grab a fresh bottle, which he eases into his daughter’s mouth as she quiets. After a few moments, when Clint’s sure she’s occupied enough not to make more of a fuss, he sits down, determined to ask the question out loud before he starts assuming that he knows why his partner been hesitant since arriving back at the house.

“What’s going on, Tash?”

Natasha puts her lips together, looking sad. “It’s just…” She swallows, attempting to smooth down the break in her voice. “Her. I can never have her.”

The ache in Clint's chest that had started to grow when he had first seen her sitting up alone intensifies, and his mouth suddenly becomes dry. “Tasha…”

“It hurts,” she admits, folding her arms, as if she’s trying to keep herself from falling apart. “I didn’t think it would. And maybe it’s because I love you both so damn much, but it hurts, Clint.” She stops, casting a wistful gaze towards Lila. “I’ve never...I’ve never felt this way about a baby before.”

“Well, that’s because my kid’s pretty special,” Clint boasts, trying to lift the mood, even as he watches Natasha’s face fall at the words. He knows as well as anything that Natasha never planned to be a mother, that she wouldn't have chosen to be one in any other previous life. Still, he also knows that the fact that she _knows_ she can’t have a child right now isn’t helping her mood. Laura and Clint were so equal in their love and affection for each other, and they had spent so long being careful about letting their relationship develop when Natasha came into the picture, that he never had any doubts about where she belonged when it came to the three of them. But where the kids were concerned, well...Cooper had always unquestionably been Laura and Clint’s, as Natasha hadn’t even been a part of their lives yet when he was born. And although he knows she’d been okay with being a second mother, he also figures Lila is driving home the very real feeling of uncertainty when it comes to wondering where she might belong in an equation that now included another child, one that was very much the product of a husband and wife who loved each other.

“Would it help?” Clint asks after a moment. “If you told her about it?”

Natasha bites down hard on her lip. “Probably," she admits. "But I don’t want to burden her with that. This should be the happiest time of her life. If I ruin it, I’m just a terrible, selfish person.”

“It’s the happiest time of her life, but it’s also the most sleepless,” Clint reminds her with a small smile. “Seriously, Nat. She loves you. She cares about you. And don’t think she hasn’t noticed since you’ve been back that something’s wrong. I can only cover for you for so long before she breaks down those walls, and you _know_ she will.” _A product of loving you_ , he adds silently, knowing he doesn't need to say the words out loud, and Natasha nods.

“I know. I will say something. Just...not now. Okay?”

Clint closes his eyes at the same words she’d told him at the hospital when Lila was born. He hadn’t pushed then, either, but that was different. That had been a public place, a specific situation, and he had respected that Natasha didn't want to add another emotion to the mix. Being at the farm was another matter altogether, because the farm is a place where Clint knows they're used to airing dirty laundry about their pasts, a place where they fight and have sex and cry openly in a way they wouldn't allow anyone else to see -- a place where Natasha could and should talk about these things. And yet, he knows his partner too well, and he knows that Natasha's not going to come clean about her past to Laura until she feels ready, no matter how much she lets herself hurt in the meantime.

“Okay,” he says, cradling his daughter as she pulls away from her bottle. “You wanna try holding her, then? She needs to be burped.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Your thanks to me for opening up about my emotions is to have your daughter spit up on my clothes? Thanks to you too, Barton.”

“Relax,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I’m not entirely coldhearted. You use a towel.” He gets up and passes Lila over, and then goes to the living room and takes a spare cloth from where it’s been dropped on the couch.

“Gentle pats on the back,” Clint instructs as he positions the towel over Natasha’s shoulder. “Not too gentle, but not too hard, either -- she doesn’t really have full control of her lungs yet. Well, except when she wants to scream. Then all bets are off.”

Natasha doesn’t answer but continues to pat Lila firmly on the back until she finally gurgles, spitting up milky fluid onto the towel.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he strokes Lila’s head, and Natasha shoots him a look.

“I meant the baby,” he says, rolling his eyes, reaching out. He's surprised when Natasha’s arm tightens suddenly.

“Wait,” she says, her voice strained. “Let me hold her for a little bit longer?”

Clint feels the lines on his forehead multiply as his brow creases but he nods, leaning over to kiss Natasha on the head.

“Yeah,” he says, settling down across from her, watching her stroke Lila’s small face in the otherwise silent house. “Of course.”

 

***

 

Three weeks later, Natasha has become increasingly more comfortable with Lila but Laura still has no idea what’s truly behind her hesitancy when it comes to certain situations, like when Natasha refuses to help Laura with bedtime rituals, or when she quietly excuses herself from watching her eat. And it’s not that Laura’s _trying_ to pry into her life, because she knows Natasha doesn’t offer herself up easily in that way, but Laura also hates feeling helpless -- especially when someone she loves is upset and she knows she can’t do anything about it.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on with Nat?” Laura asks while they give Lila a bath. She watches the baby splash around in the pink basin with a grin and Clint grimaces.

“No,” he says after a moment, handing her a bottle of Johnson & Johnson baby wash, and Laura gives him a look.

“Clint.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be coy about this,” Clint responds, his voice tinged with frustration. “I swear. But she should tell you. It’s her life, Laura. It’s not my business.”

Laura carefully works the gentle formula into Lila’s small strands of hair, splashing water onto her back. “I know,” she says, watching Lila flail her arms back and forth. “I know. I’m sorry I keep pushing.” She swallows. “I just...I don’t know why she won’t talk about it. I know she was strange about holding Lila in the hospital, and I understood that...but I thought maybe it would be better once we came home.” She looks up sadly. “I want her to feel like she’s part of our family, Clint.”

“She does,” Clint reassures, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I promise. This is a just a thing she has to work through. And don’t forget, this is also the first time she’s really been here for something like this. All this baby stuff, especially the family stuff...it’s new to her.”

Laura nods and tries to ignore the pain in her lungs, choosing to focus on Lila’s happy demeanor, unable to help the smile that crawls onto her face at the sight of her daughter making noises happily in her bath.

“Mommy loves you,” she murmurs as she lifts Lila out of the basin, bringing her to Clint who wraps her in a tiny towel. He kisses the other side of her head as they cuddle the baby between them, Clint making soft sounds against her cheek, and Laura finds herself caught up in the moment until a quiet knock startles them. Clint pulls away, adjusting Lila in his arms as Laura opens the door to meet Natasha's face.

“Sorry. I just...I needed to use the bathroom,” Natasha says uncertainly, glancing at both of them in quick succession, as if she's not sure whether or not she's allowed to interrupt what Laura realizes has been a more private moment. She suddenly feels guilty for a reason she can’t explain and nods, putting a gentle hand against Natasha’s cheek.

“Of course,” Laura says quietly, letting her fingers trail across her face before stepping outside. When Clint passes Lila over so she can get changed, Laura finds herself holding her baby a little tighter, while also holding back tears.

That night, it’s Clint’s turn to try to sleep more than a few hours at a time, and Laura ends up rocking Lila in the big chair downstairs, listening to the latest Rascal Flatts album through one earbud as the baby becomes slack against her chest.

“I can’t have kids.”

Natasha’s voice comes out of nowhere, brash and curt, a delivery that sounds like it belongs more in a courtroom than in a quiet farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Laura finds herself startled and gives herself a moment to recover, yanking the headphones out of her ear as Natasha moves further into the room.

“What?”

“I can’t have kids,” Natasha repeats stiffly and Laura thinks that if she didn’t know what it felt like to nurse a broken heart, because she had always been so lucky when it came to Clint and their relationship, she would know now.

“Nat…” She gets up from the chair, moving to the couch while Lila presses small hands against her chest. “If that’s the reason you’ve been feeling bad, you could’ve just told me. I would have understood. There are lots of people who can’t have kids...I mean, my own grandmother adopted my mother, because she couldn’t get pregnant.” She smiles sadly. “It doesn’t make you any different or any less important to us.”

“It’s not like that,” Natasha says, her words clipped. “It’s...it’s not that I can’t have kids because I got unlucky through some biological misfortune.” She pauses, and it looks like she’s trying to find the courage to force the rest of the sentence out. Laura waits, concentrates on keeping her gaze steady, gentle eyes saying what she can’t find a way to express. She knows what it means when Clint takes his time to speak, and she knows it’s the same deal with Natasha.

“I can’t have kids because of what they did to me,” Natasha says finally, her voice cracking completely. “In the Red Room.”

Laura’s hands, which have been drawing circles across Lila’s back, still as her breath catches in her throat. In the short silence that follows, she feels like all the blinders that she didn’t realize she had been using have fallen away, because everything suddenly makes sense -- Natasha’s initial refusal to hold Lila, the way she’d shied away from more familial moments, the way she’d kept herself from the baby, watching most things from a distance except when prodded and pushed. Laura feels terrified, guilty and sad all at once, even though she knows Clint (and even Natasha) would tell her not to feel bad about not knowing this, that it was Natasha’s story and Natasha’s life, and if Natasha had wanted Laura to know about something like this, she would’ve found a way to tell her earlier.

“They called it my graduation,” she continues softly, and when she blinks, she also lets two tears slip down her cheek. “It wasn’t just me -- it was all of us who were in the program. We weren’t supposed to ever have a life...anything like this,” she says, waving her hands around listlessly, indicating the farm. “The procedure was supposed to make us better at what we were trained for. If we didn’t have the option, we couldn’t know how it felt when we had to...do things to mothers, or children.” She swallows. “If we didn’t have the option, we’d never risk the consequences of sleeping with someone for a job, and we'd never have to worry about not being careful, or about having to dispose of any evidence. It was like an insurance policy.”

Laura feels her own eyes fill with tears, and she knows it has nothing to do with hormones. “Natasha...oh, Natasha,” she murmurs while Lila picks that moment to yawn quietly, causing Laura to come apart even more. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. And I didn’t want to tell you,” Natasha says, her voice dropping. “Clint wanted me to, the day she was born. I couldn’t...I couldn’t be that selfish. Not when I loved both of you too much to care.”

Laura puts a shaking hand on Lila’s head and then holds her free arm out towards Natasha, fingers stretched in her direction.

“Come here,” she says softly and it’s as if Natasha has been waiting for Laura to give her some sort of approval. She moves to the couch and curls up, resting her head on her shoulder, as if she’s one of Laura’s children instead of a competent, practical assassin and SHIELD agent.

“Did it hurt?” Laura finds herself asking as she settles her hand on Natasha’s stomach. Natasha flinches at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t remember the pain,” she admits, not moving from where she's pressed against Laura’s body. “I was good with pain, and anyway, they put me out. But I remember the razor. I remember the scalpel. And the gurney. I remember the fear, and I remember waking up and seeing the scars that were there...and I remember when I knew the scars would always be there.”

“Jesus, Nat.” Laura breathes heavily through her nose, trying to avoid waking Lila with too much movement. “I wish I could’ve protected you. I wish --”

“You don’t.” Natasha cuts her off, lifting her head. “Trust me. I’d never wish that on anyone, even someone like Clint. Even if someone wanted to save me and knew that they probably could.” Her look is defiant, her face set in an expression that Laura thinks she must use when she has to hide away her emotions on the job. But Laura realizes now that she knows Natasha well enough to see through the layers that are piled on top of that otherwise blank stare, the ones that are threatening to crack and fold under pressure. In the wake of their ongoing journey towards comfortable intimacy, Laura’s often found herself wondering what it is that makes her love Natasha so much, and she realizes _this_ is what she loves about Natasha: her vulnerability, her need to be strong in the face of all her odds, her inherent softness. It’s traits of Clint, Natasha, and Laura all rolled into one person, as if she was meant to fit into their lives in this exact way.

“I wanted Lila to be yours as much as ours,” Laura says after a long pause. “Even though she came from my own body, I wanted you to share everything as if you were her parent, too. I wanted you to be her mother. But I’ll understand if you want to take things slow.”

“Thank you,” Natasha whispers, reaching out to stroke Lila’s hair and Laura starts to cry again, because she can't help it.

“I never want you to feel bad about this,” she manages. “ _Ever_. No matter how many more kids we have in our lifetime. No matter how many times you need to skip a feeding, or a diaper change, or a bedtime story. This baby is going to love you. _We_ love you, Nat. And nothing that we learn about you, no matter what it is, is ever going to change that.”

Natasha rolls her head back onto Laura’s shoulder, shuddering quietly, though Laura can’t tell if she’s still crying or not.

“Do you...do you mind if I sleep with you guys tonight?" she asks tentatively. "I can even get up and do some feedings, if you want help."

Laura smiles, closing her eyes. “I want you in our bed tonight no matter what,” she confirms, kissing Natasha and then kissing her own daughter, who is still somehow managing to sleep soundly. Natasha doesn’t answer, but Laura feels the soft trickle of tears down her neck, and knows she doesn’t need to say anything else.

 

***

 

By the time they're deep in the throes of summer, the change in Natasha, from Laura's eyes, is almost unfathomable.

While Clint had tried to come home more than usual during breaks in assignments, Natasha had taken to accompanying Clint on and off for most of them -- a sudden, invigorated interest in wanting to spend time with Lila that Laura had found herself touched by. And while Natasha was still hesitant to do things like hold Lila for long periods of time and give her baths, Laura hadn’t missed the way her body language changed each time she touched the baby, the edges that kept dropping off the assassin’s body as if, hidden away underneath all the hurt and pain and regret, there was a hint of someone who had all the innate skills of being a mother, even if they didn't know it.

And, Laura comes to realize, it hadn’t gone unnoticed in her daughter’s eyes, either. In the same way that Cooper had taken to Clint in certain ways during his infancy, Laura starts to notice that Natasha has a way with Lila that she can’t seem to compete with. It should bother her, and she knows it would probably bother any woman who was in a relationship like this, but Laura can’t feel anything except pride and joy and a sense of overwhelming love -- the kind of feeling that makes her want to burst into tears at any given moment, because this is what Natasha _deserved_ , and this was the kind of intimacy and inclusion she only hoped they could allow her to achieve one day by being a part of their family.

Clint’s in the kitchen setting the table for dinner while Laura and Natasha play with Lila in the living room, when all of a sudden, Laura screams out for her husband. The reaction causes Clint to stumble barefoot into the room in a frenzied, worried state.

“Laura -- what -- _OW_!” He grunts as he trips over a few toys, stubbing his right toe on one of Cooper’s plastic trucks, and then stops in his tracks when Laura points wordlessly towards the floor. Lila has pulled herself from her stomach to her knees and is reaching out across the floor, small hands slapping the wood as she crawls steadily. Laura’s staring at her with wonder while Natasha looks like she’s going to cry.

“She’s crawling?” Clint asks breathlessly, and Laura looks up and smiles.

“Natasha was playing with her and put her down on the floor...the next thing I knew, she had pulled herself up and started moving.”

Clint laughs and then quickly grabs his cell phone from his pocket, holding it up.

“Hey, Lila...Lila baby, can you crawl for daddy?” He crouches down and waves a hand in the direction of his voice and the baby grins, moving towards him as he hits the video button.

“I guess we have to baby proof the house again,” Laura says, speaking to no one in particular, though when Clint doesn’t answer she knows he’s too caught up in the moment to care. For all that his home improvement skills brought him joy and satisfaction, Clint absolutely _hated_ baby proofing the house.

“Look at her go.” Clint beams proudly, ignoring Laura's words, and she thinks his face might break as he snaps more photos in succession before recording the date and time. “Good job, baby bird.”

Laura gives him a look. “Don’t you think we have enough bird and arrow metaphors in our lives already? Our _curtains_ have birds on them.”

Clint smiles wider, getting up. “Like I said -- she’s gonna be an archer.”

“Possibly,” Natasha pipes up from where she’s been sitting back on her hands, watching the whole exchange. Her voice is clear but her eyes are still bright, and Laura can practically see the emotion swimming in them. “Have you felt her grip? Kid’s got an iron hold. Perfect for holding a bow and arrow.”

“You’re as bad as he is,” Laura says with a groan and Natasha smirks as she reaches over to grab Lila so that she doesn’t crawl too far, placing her in her lap while Laura gets up, heading back to the kitchen.

“ _I’m_ not the one that bought her the onesie with the bow and arrow on the front.”

“They all had that,” Laura says, rolling her eyes as she finishes setting the table that Clint had abandoned thanks to Lila’s milestone. “Cooper’s said I LOVE ARROWS. I still have it somewhere in the attic.”

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Natasha says as she follows Laura into the kitchen, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “If it was me, I would’ve given him one that says MOMMY'S FAVORITE ASSASSIN.”

“Oh, that’s even better,” Laura responds bitterly, but she can’t help herself from sharing Natasha’s smile. “And don't worry, there’s probably still time. Cooper!” She raises her voice, leaning towards the direction of the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

Laura puts the salad bowl on the table while Natasha situates Lila in her high chair, and Clint’s in the middle of setting down drinks when Cooper finally skids to a halt near the table, his socks allowing him to slip across the floor dangerously.

“Careful!” Laura admonishes sharply as he very nearly knocks Clint over, grabbing onto his dad’s legs to stop the fall. “You have a sister, now, remember? Don’t scare her.”

“Sorry,” Cooper says breathlessly, looking at Lila, who is banging on the highchair tray. “Sorry. I wanted to finish my drawing before dinner so I could show you.” He hands a piece of paper to Laura, who takes it with a small smile as she sits down at the table.

“Very nice,” Laura remarks, looking at the photo which depicts three large stick figures and one smaller one, all set against a large brown house with green grass and a blue sky. “We can put this on the fridge. You got all of us in there, didn't you?”

“Yeah!” Cooper looks pleased. “Lila an’ me, an’ you. An’ Auntie Nat.”

Natasha’s head snaps up as he finishes talking, and even Laura feels confused. “Auntie Nat?” she asks her son curiously, reaching for her fork, and Cooper smiles again.

“Yep. It's what I decided I'm gonna call Nat from now on."

Clint nods slowly. "When did you decide that?" he asks casually, casting a glance at Natasha, who is pushing food around with her fork. Cooper shrugs, as if the question is the easiest thing in the world to answer.

Well, I mean, I was just thinking about it. I mean, we all live here, right? And daddy's dad, and mommy's mom. Nat’s basically my mom also."

"Yes," Laura says placidly, pausing to take a drink of water as Lila bangs on her tray table again. "So how did you decide that you were calling Natasha Aunt Nat?"

"Oh." Cooper smiles. "I know Nat's gonna be Lila's mom, too, but that's two mommys, and Lila needs an aunt, cause she doesn't have one.”

Laura turns to glance at Natasha, whose expression is taking on a cross between stricken and touched, and then turns her gaze to Clint, who is trying unsuccessfully to hide a wide smile.

"Maybe you should ask Natasha if she's okay with being called Auntie Nat," Laura suggests and Cooper looks slightly chagrined as he turns around, facing Natasha in his chair and pulling two legs up onto his seat.

"Sorry, mommy. Are you okay with being Auntie Nat, Tasha? It's okay, cause you can still be mommy, too."

There's quiet for a long time and Laura watches Natasha's eyes water, before they clear easily. "Yes, Coop," she says after a long pause, reaching over to ruffle hair that’s getting too a little long. “I'm okay with it, if you want to call me that. I like being your mom _and_ I like being Auntie Nat.”

Cooper looks at the three adults and then smiles, picking up his spoon. “Good," he declares happily as Lila makes a noise of approval in the background. "Cause I like you being Auntie Nat, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, continued thanks to everyone who is reading this and keeps coming back for more, or anyone who reblogs posts or gifsets on tumblr, or whatever the case may be -- knowing people are invested in this world means everything. Second of all, in case you couldn't tell, this chapter is on the longer side...and for those of you that missed [the rambling tumblr post](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com/post/131923126845/real-fic-talk-i-love-love-adore-i-love-only) I made recently, fair warning that as this story progresses, this will become the norm. Though this fic can be read as one-shots, or however people are comfortable with, the original intention has always been to have the stories told here round out parts of [ILOTWTD](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4767218) that didn't get written extensively the first time around, adding to the depth of this world and building on moments that help make this story as a whole more engaging and real. To that end, I've realized there are so many moments I want to include, and to make sure that I don't regret leaving something out, I'm going to work slowly and intricately through each remaining year (and possibly further on, because there's a chance this might not end in 2015 after all) and dive as deep as I can into the moments I didn't get to write in ILOTWTD because they didn't fit the story at the time. And yes, it will stay non linear, for anyone who is curious. I hope you'll all stay along for the ride.
> 
> Thank yous where thank yous are due: to [nathanielbarton](http://nathanielbarton.tumblr.com) for giving me the prompt awhile ago of things she wanted to see in an OT3 which included "Natasha not knowing how to hold a baby for the first time and everyone crying," (you knew it was coming), [geniusorinsanity](geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) for flailing over OT3 things with me and cheerleading, and as always, [geckoholic](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic) for constant support.


	9. 2012: Part II

When Laura arrives at SHIELD’s medical facility, she’s instantly struck by the fact that it feels both familiar and uncomfortable at the same time. She hasn’t been here since Natasha’s injury and while that hadn’t been all that long ago, at the time, the visit had been a harsh reminder of what Clint’s life was like outside the farm. It was a life shoved into the space Laura had spent defining for them, one that was rooted in quietness and simple pleasures, and the intensity of it had been scary and overwhelming. Coming back and knowing the ins and outs of the facility -- what she’ll see, who she’ll see, and even how to get there -- makes this particular visit easier, but only when she forgets the reason why she’s here in the first place.

Natasha meets her outside and it’s only when she pries the pen away from Laura’s hand that she realizes she’s been chewing on it incessantly since she picked it up in the cab, leaving teeth marks along the sides. Natasha looks at the offending object and frowns slightly, glancing up.

“You picking up habits from your two-year-old?”

Natasha’s smile is gentle and sad at the same time and Laura finds herself falling apart almost on instinct, even though she instantly hates herself for it. Somehow, it’s always Natasha she’s more emotional with; she’s emotional with Clint, too, but Natasha has always been what her feelings have associated themselves with when she needs _safe_ and when she needs _comfort_.

“I couldn’t find any gum,” she admits quietly, her head buried in Natasha’s shoulder. She’s unsure whether the other girl will let her hold her like this, because while anything that happens at the farm is fair game, this is different. This is Natasha’s place of work, somewhere that she normally presents herself as being strong and intense. When Natasha’s arms stay wrapped around her waist, however, Laura allows herself to hug her more tightly.

“He’s sedated,” she explains when Laura finally pulls away. “Just so you know. It’s not a coma, or anything like that. They just wanted him to actually rest while they do some tests, and I don’t think he’s gotten a proper amount of sleep for awhile.”

Laura nods, swallowing down words that she can’t seem to make herself say out loud. She only knows what Natasha had chosen to tell her over the phone, and what Fury had told her when he had called to alert her of her husband’s disappearance -- a word that makes Laura laugh when she thinks about it, because “disappearance” should mean being kidnapped or going off the grid, not being abducted by alien Gods, like something out of a book she reads to her kids.

“No -- nothing else?”

Natasha shakes her head. “We gave him an IV drip, mostly because he’s been dehydrated, among other things. He sustained a few injuries in the battle --”

“I know,” Laura interrupts curtly. “I saw.” She takes a steadying breath and then lets it out slowly as she watches Natasha’s face, trying to calm herself. “Sorry. It’s just...you guys were kind of all over the place.” She had walked into the living room when the home decorating show she had been half-watching had switched to a breaking news live feed of what was happening in New York City, sacrificing three of her favorite porcelain bowls when she realized what and who she was seeing on screen. Natasha glances down at the bandage on Laura’s right wrist, before looking up again.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Natasha says lightly, but Laura can tell that she’s blatantly lying, and not just from the muscle in her cheek that twitches every time she puts weight on her leg. There are bruises up and down her neck that Laura can see clearly, now that Natasha has changed from her uniform into regular clothing, and a large cut on her forehead that looks red and angry. Laura knows better than to ask if she’s taken care of any of her own injuries before tending to her partner, and makes a mental note to do that herself when they get a moment alone.

“Laura.”

Laura realizes she’s been distracted again, staring blankly at the ground, until Natasha’s voice brings her back to reality.

“They ran a few scans to make sure, but so far, there’s no sign of abnormal brain activity.”

Laura lets out the breath she’s been unconsciously holding. “Good,” she says hoarsely. “That’s...that’s good, right?” _Please say it’s good_ she thinks as she stares up at Natasha, whose face remains impassive. Laura hates that Natasha’s so skilled at holding her own in these types of situations, especially when Laura has always thought of _herself_ as someone who could keep it together, no matter how bad things got. It was a trait of her personality that had been tested when she met Clint, and one that had been beaten home when she met Natasha, who was better at the practice than Laura knows she’ll ever be.

“Walk with me,” Natasha says finally, reaching out and putting her hand on Laura’s shoulder as she leads her inside the building, steering her blindly past the doors and down the hall.

“Did I ever tell you that I was brainwashed? In the Red Room?”

“You --” Laura breaks off as they stop in front of a room. “No,” she says, looking up at Natasha, who has one hand on the doorknob. “You were?”

Natasha nods. “That’s the thing -- you wouldn’t know it, now. But there are still times when it hits, and when I remember. The triggers...they’re not anything that you could pinpoint. But they’re there. They’re waiting in the wings for my brain to snap, so that I can associate some random thing with my past.” She takes a breath, and Laura shakes her head.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Natasha sighs. “I’m saying that these things that happen, they stay with you. The scars you get from experiences like this are with you forever. They’ll heal, and they won’t show any lasting damage physically, but they _will_ show lasting damage mentally.”

Laura closes her eyes as the world start to spin in front of her, and for a brief moment, she feels like she’s experiencing Clint’s first injury all over again. She puts two hands against the wall, breathing through the panic that she can already tell is settling into her lungs.

“So, what? You’re telling me that he’s…that he’s going to be _damaged_?” She almost can’t make herself say the last words, because it sounds like it’s some kind of death sentence. Natasha reaches out, forcing Laura away from the wall, putting one warm hand against the side of her face.

“I’m not saying he’s going to be damaged,” Natasha says gently, drawing Laura’s eyes to her own. “Not in the way other people use that term. He’s going to be the same Clint that you married. He’s going to be the same Clint that became my partner.” She pauses, allowing the words to sink in. “The effects of having someone in my head, that’s something I’ve carried with me my whole life. And no matter what we do, and no matter how strong he is, Clint will have those scars, too. For the rest of his life. You need to understand that and you need to be able to accept that.”

Laura crushes her bottom lip with her teeth in an effort to keep it from trembling and nods as Natasha continues to stare at her. Clint hasn’t been put in any kind of private room or secret ward and she knows that there are dozens of people walking the halls behind them, SHIELD personnel and doctors and maybe a few other random outsiders. But the cacophony and bustle has faded at some point during their conversation and to Laura, there’s only her and Natasha standing against a wall, locked into each other’s gaze. Her heart aches with the urge to kiss her, though she knows that wouldn’t be appropriate, no matter how alone she feels in the moment. Natasha seems to understand, however, leaning down to brush a lock of hair away from Laura’s cheek, putting her lips stealthily against her skin.

“Okay?”

It's not the passionate, desperate kiss Laura so badly wants in this moment, but it's enough, and she knows it's all she's getting right now. “Okay,” she says softly as Natasha pulls away and then pushes open the door to the room. Laura follows slowly, her heart beating rapidly, almost overwhelmingly.

The only positive thing about the situation, Laura thinks, is that for once, Clint doesn’t look half terrible. There’s an IV sticking out the back of his wrist, like Natasha had said, and a few beeping monitors that Laura assumes are there to observe his heart rate and other vitals. But there’s no oxygen mask, no ventilator, no visible signs of blood and no casts or wraps that decorate his body. Still, Laura can’t help the chill that shoots through her at the sight of her husband lying prone in the bed, his face pale and gaunt, deep cuts lining his cheeks and the scape of his arms, some of which have been dabbed with antibiotic cream or, in a few cases, stitched closed with a precision that makes Laura wonder if Natasha had just gone ahead and done it herself.

“Am I ever not going to be the one who spends her life sitting by either of your hospital beds, hoping you wake up?” Laura asks softly as she sinks into a chair, reaching out and brushing a shaking hand across Clint’s forehead. Natasha doesn’t answer but pulls up another chair as Laura leans over, pressing her lips against Clint’s forehead. It’s clammier than she’s expected for the serene way Clint seems to be sleeping, the skin marred with sweat and the overwhelming scent of antiseptic.

“How bad?”

Natasha hesitates. “I don’t know,” she admits. “He’s...not in the best shape, mentally. He won’t say anything, but I can tell. There were things they made him do…things they made him talk about.”

“They,” Laura says darkly, her fingers digging into her own skin, leaving half-crescent moons along her arm. “You mean _him_.”

Natasha reaches over and moves Laura’s hand away from where it’s making marks, clasping it tightly in her own.

“He can’t hurt Clint anymore,” she says gently. “Not in reality, at least,” and it takes Laura a moment to realize what Natasha’s words mean.

“Not in reality,” she repeats, leaning back in the chair and blinking back tears. “He never wanted this life, you know. He took the job at SHIELD because he wanted to help people, and because he was told he could make a difference. I pushed him into joining the Avengers because I knew he was holding back, and because I knew he would never do it on his own, since he didn’t think he could measure up.” She swallows down a break in her voice and Natasha’s look changes completely, her gentle gaze clouding with anger.

“Laura Foster Barton. If you even _dare_  to try to tell me that you think this is your fault because you pushed him into doing what he wanted to do for a living, I’ll take your kids and run for the hills.”

Laura manages a laugh and sniffles a little. “That’s a very Natasha Romanoff threat,” she says, trying to make her voice sound stern, and Natasha huffs out a breath.

“Well, I never said I would be subtle about it.”

Laura exhales slowly, staring down at Clint. “I was so proud of him when he believed me, when he took the job. But he never wanted this part of it. He never wanted to be a hero to the world. He just wanted to be a hero to us. To me.” Natasha remains silent next to her, running her fingers up and down the back of Laura’s hand, over the ridges of her knuckles.

“Do you know how many children and innocent people Clint’s saved in the years we’ve been together?”

Laura looks up in surprise and shakes her head, and Natasha squeezes her palm.

“Over 200. He’s saved over 200 innocent civilians at one point or another, because he _is_ that hero that he never wanted to be. Because when Stark was too wrapped up in his own demons and Thor wasn’t here and Captain America was stuck in the ice, and it was just both of us working to defend the world, he made sure that we were out there. He made sure we were always fighting, no matter how bad it was, no matter how tired we were. He made sure we were never giving up on saving people that needed our help.” She smiles gently, in a way that Laura recognizes  _she_ might smile, something that suggests intimacy and knowing the person you loved inside out. Laura takes a deep, shaking breath.

“What was it like?” Laura asks suddenly and Natasha looks confused at both the question and the sudden change of topic.

“What was what like?”

Laura attempts to prepare the words in her head before saying them out loud. “The first time you had sex with Clint.”

Both of Natasha’s eyebrows lift at the same time, and Laura watches as an amused smile finds its way over her face.

“Quick,” she replies a little thoughtfully. “We were both tired and angry -- not at each other, really, but at the situation. It kind of...spurred us into realizing that we had been bottling up our emotions and ignoring them beyond us having feelings for each other.” Her voice takes on a fond tone, and Laura wonders if she’s remembering _exactly_ how she might have felt the first time they slept together. “He was good, though. A lot better than the other men I’ve slept with.”

“Other men,” Laura says skeptically, and Natasha shrugs.

“Par for the course with this life, at least, before I was partnered with Clint and brought into SHIELD. Fortunately, none of them were very memorable, so it’s not like he had a lot to worry about in that respect. Though it certainly didn't stop him from _asking_...anyway, it was like a light bulb. A sweaty and bloody light bulb.”

Laura finds herself sharing Natasha's smile, mostly as her brain settles on the image of Natasha and Clint going at it roughly and angrily, hands on each other’s backs, Natasha arching upwards and Clint thrusting into her while murmuring into her hair, the same way Laura knows he acts in bed when they sleep together at home. She fights a noticeable tremor. “He can get it up better when he’s had a lot of foreplay,” she offers after a pause, and Natasha stares at her in silence before she continues. “I think it also depends on the type of condoms he uses, but I’m serious. We went four times on our wedding night, which I’m pretty sure was a record.”

Natasha laughs quietly, leaning her head against Laura’s shoulder, stretching out as best she can. “The best was in Bucharest. Shitty little hotel and a tiny bed, so we did it in the shower and almost broke every single safety rule along the way. Passed off the bruises as work related, which I guess it kind of was.”

“We did it in a park, once,” Laura admits. “When we were first dating. Grass stains on my dress and burns on my legs from the ground for weeks after. It made everything after that a little uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says with a small sigh. “Well, rug burns aren’t exactly any better. Those stay for weeks.” She lifts her head and Laura finds herself instantly comforted; in all the years that Natasha had known Clint and Laura, they’d never talked openly about Clint’s sex life when it came to either of the people he was sleeping with, mostly because it was a conversation that never seemed relevant to bring up. Laura accepted that Natasha loved Clint, and she had never wanted to be the one to come to Natasha with the intention of claiming she needed to know what she did with her husband when she wasn’t around; she trusted both of their judgments and, moreover, she loved both of them enough to understand why they allowed themselves to be intimate. But in the past few years, she had also become more than a little curious about it, especially as the three of them had gotten closer and the relationship had extended to them all loving each other openly.

“He had a lot of doubts, you know,” Natasha continues. “About sleeping with me like this. I thought that nothing could be as bad as the first time we slept together naked, but he was a wreck. He could barely eat afterwards, because he felt so guilty. And then he told me that he was pretty sure nothing was ever going to be as good as sex with you.”

“He said that?” Laura asks quickly.

Natasha nods. “Yes. I should’ve slapped him for that comment, especially since he had just made me come three times, but at least I knew his wife well enough to know this isn’t exactly a normal situation,” she says with a small smile. “Makes me wonder how truthful he was being, but I’m hoping we have time to test that at some point down the line.” She adds the last part teasingly and Laura smiles back because she knows if it was up to her, she would just take Natasha home right now, if nothing else than to take advantage of the comfort she’s craving.

“He told me a long time ago that he loves you,” Laura says, moving her gaze to the hospital bed. “I don’t think I understood it then, even if I thought I did. I know you keep him safe. I know you care about him. I know you sleep with him and do the same things I do with him, even though you're not married. But if you hadn’t...if you didn’t…”

“I know,” Natasha says gently. “But I did. And I would have, even if I didn’t love him.” She follows Laura’s eyes. “He’s everything to me, Laura. And so are you. But I’ve never had my life flash in front of me more than it did when I got the phone call he had been taken. And I never want to feel that way again -- not towards you, or him, or the kids. Never.”

Laura feels her eyes welling up again, a single tear escaping and dripping down her cheek. “Dammit,” she mutters angrily, and Natasha reaches up and wipes the water away with her thumb.

“If he sees me fall apart, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I know.” Natasha pulls Laura’s face into her shoulder, running her fingers through her hair, and Laura suddenly realizes she probably _does_ know. She's never let herself consider what happens if Natasha becomes vulnerable around Clint when it's just the two of them, and suddenly, her heart hurts.

“You've always been stronger," she says as Natasha continues to play with her hair. "You've always held yourself together around him...around me."

Natasha laughs quietly, forcing Laura to move her head away.

"You know that's not true," she says gently. "And being stronger doesn't always mean that you're any better equipped to deal with things. I do fall apart sometimes, you know. Just like you." When Laura doesn't say anything, Natasha continues quietly.

"Clint attacking us meant that Loki got what he wanted -- he got Banner to lose control. I was on the receiving end of that, and it didn't end well."

Laura makes a noise in the back of her throat. She'd never thought of Natasha as small or weak, despite the girl's age and the way her body looked. But she had also seen enough footage to know what the _Hulk_ looked like, and she had watched him crush cars and aliens between his fingers as if they were ants.

"Did he hurt you?" 

Natasha shakes her head, but it's a movement that looks painful. "Not anymore than I've been hurt when I've battled other things that are beyond my control." She swallows tightly. "But I was scared. I fell apart, afterwards. I didn't even bother to try to rejoin the fight. And then I thought..."

Laura searches her face, putting her hand on Natasha's cheek. "What? Nat, what is it?"

Natasha blinks a few times, meeting Laura's eyes. "I made a promise to you, to me, to bring him home. I was going to do that, because he needed to come home to us. I was bringing him home, no matter how much I was terrified of what had just happened. Or at least, I was going to die trying."

The tears that Laura has been managing to keep at bay finally fall in the silence that’s only dominated by their shared breathing and the incessant beeping of hospital monitors, and Laura lets out her cries until her chest heaves, until her vision swims from lack of oxygen and overall emotional exhaustion.

“Better?” Natasha asks when Laura finally lifts her head after far too long, drawing in ragged breaths to stop the nausea and dizziness. She shakes her head.

“No,” she admits. “But like you said...his scars...I don’t think mine are going to heal, either.”

Natasha gives her a sad smile, confirming what Laura knows she’s been afraid to admit. Clint’s situation, as much as she wants it to be isolated, isn’t isolated at all. It had affected Natasha, and it had affected Laura, and none of them would be okay for a long time.

“Let me take care of you?” Laura asks when Natasha moves again, looking pained. “You look like you could use the help.” When Natasha doesn’t answer, she swallows down another wave of emotion. “Please.” _If I can’t help him, let me help you_. Natasha meets her eyes and gets up slowly, motioning towards the large bathroom.

“Only because I love you, you know,” she says, taking off her shirt once they’re inside. “And there’ll be more in the coming weeks,” she adds tiredly, watching Laura take in the cuts and bruises. Laura sticks her tongue inside her cheek and starts moving her hands over Natasha’s skin, checking for injuries the same way she does when Clint comes home from an assignment. There’s nothing that looks particularly bad, save for the cut on her forehead, but Laura’s also quick to catch the shallow hitch in Natasha’s breathing that she hadn’t noticed earlier. She puts her hand underneath the other girl’s breast, watching Natasha grit her teeth in pain as Laura presses her palm gently against her skin.

“ _Nat_ ,” she says in alarm, withdrawing her hand as if she’s touched fire, and Natasha shakes her head.

“Laura, need I remind you I once walked over two miles with a concussion and a bruised rib?”

“I don’t...that’s not…” Laura stares at her. “You need medical care.”

“I’ll get medical care,” Natasha says. “Plenty of it, and lots of medication, if SHIELD has anything to say about that.” She sighs, but now that Laura’s picked up on her tells, she can see how even that little reaction has cost Natasha her comfort. Laura reaches for a paper towel, wetting it with warm water, dabbing at the cut on her forehead.

“What am I going to do with you?” She traces a finger over where she knows Natasha’s bruised rib is located. “What am I going to do with _both_ of you?”

“This,” Natasha says simply, moving her hand and putting it on Laura’s arm. “You keep doing this, Laura. You keep making sure we have somewhere we can go when it’s too much, and when we need to be loved and taken care of. You keep making sure that we come home, and we’ll keep coming home.” She finds her gaze and holds her it. “Okay?”

Laura breathes in deeply and then squares her jaw, nodding shakily.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Despite Natasha’s firm belief in it being the best place for him, Laura had been more than a little hesitant about bringing Clint back to the farm. There was the lingering shadow of fear in Clint’s eyes when Laura helped him Skype with the kids from his apartment, the way he twitched at night even when all three of them slept in the same bed together, not to mention the times Laura has noticed him lose concentration when taking care of mundane tasks, though the only tangible things to come out of those moments had been a few broken glasses and an overflowing sink. The night before Clint has agreed to go back with Laura, he wakes up from another disturbed sleep and when he finds himself unable to calm down, Natasha ends up sitting with him under the small window in the bedroom of the apartment.

“Tell me again,” Natasha says methodically, as if she’s reciting the bare bones of a report. She rests one hand on the side of his face. “I want to hear it.”

There’s silence in the room, and Clint’s breaths sound loud in the dark. “I’m alone. No one is there, but it doesn’t matter, because somehow, you’re there. You’re not paying attention...you’re too busy trying to get into the fight. I come up behind you, and…”

“And?” Natasha asks firmly as Laura sits across the room in the bed, mentally preparing herself for what she knows is coming next.

“And I kill you,” Clint says quietly, his fingers digging into his own palm. “Fuck, Nat, don’t make me keep saying these things in front of --”

“I need to hear them, too,” Laura says brusquely, surprising herself with how sharp her voice sounds. “I need to know what’s going through your head, Clint. No matter what you think I’m going to say about it.”

Clint balls his fingers into tight fists. “I’m not a killer.”

“No one said you were,” Natasha assures him, putting one hand on his arm. “And you have two people in your presence right now who know that.”

Clint nods slowly and then pitches forward, leaning his head on Natasha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I keep doing this,” he says in a low voice. “I just can’t get him out. I know he’s not there, I _know_ he’s not…”

“I know,” Natasha soothes, and Laura’s mind immediately shifts to what Natasha had said in the hospital about _reality_. She closes her eyes briefly and then gets out of bed, shutting the door to the bathroom before she lets herself sag against the sink, giving in to the hyperventilation that somehow allows her to calm her frayed nerves. After roughly ten minutes, the door slowly clicks open and Natasha enters.

“Hey.” She eyes Laura, who has moved to a spot on the floor, and sits down next to her, rubbing her knee. “You okay?”

Laura nods, leaning her head back against the wall. “Yeah. It’s just…seeing you guys together...”

“Is it too much?” Natasha asks, and her expression is so worrisome that Laura immediately grabs for her hand.

“No, Nat…no, it’s not. I promise.” She tries to smile. “I don’t...I don’t get to see these moments, you know? And I _like_ seeing you this way. I do.” She gestures towards the bedroom. “The way you’re intimate with him. The way it’s…” She wants to say what she means, that it’s different, because watching Natasha with Clint _was_ different, in so many ways. But Laura suddenly realizes she doesn’t want to say the words out loud, for fear of making herself sound unsure of her own relationship.

“Familiar?” Natasha asks quietly and Laura looks up in time to catch a ghost of a smile. She wonders how often Natasha thinks about the night she brought Clint home with his injury, the night Laura realized both of them were bound by something greater than simply a shared connection with the man they had each come to love as their own, even if at that point, they were still pretty much strangers to each other’s lives.

“Yeah.”

Natasha looks wistful. “I wish we had better moments,” she says after a long pause, her voice tinged with sadness, and Laura reaches up to stroke her hair.

“We do,” she says, taking her hand and bringing it to her lips. “Lila’s birth. The first time we kissed. The kids’ birthday parties. The first time we slept in the same bed together. And we’ll have more, I promise.” Laura runs her tongue over Natasha’s skin and she sighs, inclining her head towards the door.

“Are you going to be okay? Taking him home?”

Laura nods. She knows why Natasha’s not coming, understands it, even though she’s not entirely sure she agrees with the decision. “Even if I’m not okay, I can do this. _We_ can do this.” She gives Natasha’s hand another kiss before getting up from the floor and after Laura’s washed off her face again, they both exit the bathroom to find Clint curled up in bed.

“He went back to sleep?” Laura asks quietly, and Clint groans.

“I attempted to.”

Laura smiles at the gravely, half-awake voice, the one that reminds her of summer mornings and long nights on the porch with their children. She climbs onto the mattress while Natasha follows, the three of them eventually becoming tangled between one another’s bodies, like twisted vines that have all grown apart in different directions before coming together to fuse as one.

 

***

 

Two weeks after Laura takes Clint home, she’s making breakfast while humming Beethoven under her breath as Cooper enters the kitchen, sliding into a chair.

“When’s Auntie Nat coming back?” he asks, putting his hands in his chin, and Laura sighs as she twists around to look at her son. Ever since Cooper had become older, and more susceptible to the fact Natasha didn’t really live at the house, it had become harder and harder to hand wave her more often than not absence. Laura feels like she can’t blame her son for asking about it, or her daughter, for that matter -- after growing up surrounded by Clint’s partner, it was hard for Laura to imagine her kids wouldn’t have gotten used to having her in their lives.

“Maybe a few weeks. She’s working right now, remember?”

Cooper nods and then leans back in his chair, overgrown blonde-brown hair falling into his eyes. “Is daddy sick?”

Laura clutches the sides of the mixing bowl more tightly. “What do you mean?” She knows what her son means, though she has a slim hope that maybe she’s assuming wrongly, and Cooper shrugs.

“He’s been in his room all day. But yesterday he said we could play ball together. And Nat’s not even here to play with me, and Lila’s too little, and _you_ don’t play ball.”

“I play ball pretty well,” Laura shoots back, but she’s not really insulted by her son’s words. She knew better than anyone that there were certain things Clint and Cooper shared of their own accord, and baseball was one of them. She makes a mental note to ensure that Clint shows up at his community games later this week, no matter how he claims he’s feeling.

“You remember what happened in New York, right? When dad was working?” Laura reaches for the waffle mix, keeping her tone light.

“Yeah,” Cooper says slowly and Laura wonders what exactly he had seen when parts of the news footage had unintentionally made its way around the school via social media devices. At the time, Cooper hadn’t said anything more than, “a lot of cool explosions and dad shooting from the roof and a guy with a shield,” when Laura had pressed him for information, worried that he had seen what she had seen -- Clint leaping into battle, shoving arrowheads into aliens and swinging off his own bow. Laura smiles encouragingly.

“He’s still a little tired from that. So, why don’t you let him rest for a bit, and then you guys can play later, okay?”

Cooper sighs resignedly. “Okay,” he agrees, scrunching up his nose. “Can I play outside by myself, then?”

“After breakfast,” Laura promises, gesturing to the waffle maker. “We’re going to have breakfast with dad and Lila, and _then_ you can play outside.”

Cooper makes another face but doesn’t say anything else, slumping down in the chair instead. Laura raises an eyebrow.

“Cooper. We don’t sulk, remember? If we’re upset about something, we talk it out.”

Her son rolls his eyes, a rather perfect impression of his father that Laura would allow herself to find charming if she wasn’t already annoyed.

“Tell _dad_ to talk it out, then,” he says sarcastically, and Laura thins her lips.

“ _Cooper_.”

“Oh, and I think Lila’s awake. I heard her talking to herself upstairs.”

Laura closes her eyes, counting to ten in her head while concentrating on pouring batter. She reaches for another sip of coffee and falls into silence until another waffle has been prepared.

“Hey, Coop. Can you do me a favor and watch breakfast for a moment while I go get your sister?”

Cooper glances up and nods as Laura shuts off the waffle maker, doing a sweep of the kitchen to make sure nothing can really burn down while she leaves her son alone. Wiping her hands on a towel, she climbs the stairs slowly and then enters her children’s small shared bedroom, finding her two-year-old sitting up and grinning.

“Hey, baby girl.” Laura crouches to the floor and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you have there, love?”

“Blocks!” Lila looks up with a delighted smile, one that stretches across her face, and Laura can’t help but smile back as she reaches forward and strokes the curls that are starting to trail down her daughter’s neck. Before New York, Laura and Clint had been going back and forth with pretend bets about whose hair Lila would inherit, until Natasha had stepped in and made them put actual stakes into the argument. At this point, however, Laura’s pretty sure it’s going to be awhile before Clint’s making her coffee every morning to celebrate her victory on that front.

“Blocks made howsies!”

Laura smiles again. “Yes, they do.” She leans down to kiss her daughter on the forehead. “What else do blocks make?”

Lila’s gone back to being engrossed in her toys, but looks up after a moment and giggles. “Daddy!”

“No, blocks do not make daddy,” Laura admonishes, leaning over to pick up her daughter. “Unless you’re calling your daddy a blockhead, in which case you’d be right sometimes.” She kisses her daughter again, content to snuggle her a little longer while she has the time to herself, and then walks out of the room and across the short hallway.

“Hey,” Laura says tentatively as she enters their bedroom, and Clint looks up from where he’s sitting at the desk hidden inside the closet.

“Hey.”

Laura swallows, closing the door. “Everything okay?”

Clint nods, reaching for the cover of the laptop and shutting it down. “Yeah. Just wanted to see if Nat had anything for me.” He looks up, the space around his eyes crinkling when he sees Lila, and Laura sits down on the bed.

“Cooper was asking if you would play with him today,” she says and Clint flinches slightly.

“I forgot I told him that,” he says, running his hand over two days worth of stubble. He grimaces, pushing away from the chair. “Does he hate me?”

“Well, he currently thinks you’re either tired or sick, so I’m sure he doesn’t _hate_ you,” Laura says gently as Clint joins her. “But he’s definitely noticed something’s wrong.” She deposits Lila on the bed and their daughter crawls across the covers, grinning widely.

“Morning!”

“Oh, she definitely got your personality,” Clint says with a groan, tilting sideways until he’s lying down next to her. “Morning, Lila baby.” Lila barks out a laugh as Clint reaches over and tickles her stomach, and Laura sighs.

“Your other child.”

“Yeah.” Clint gathers Lila in his arms as he sits up, cradling her to his chest, a mess of flailing legs and arms. “I know. I just…”

“You just what?” She gives him a pointed look, but he remains silent.

“Clint.” Laura softens her tone. “What is it?”

He crawls a few fingers through Lila’s hair and then glances down. “This is a safe haven,” he says finally. “This place. It’s who I am when I’m not SHIELD. It’s who I’ve always been, before I got dragged into this mess...before I dragged all of us into this mess. I don’t want to ruin that for you, or for me, by making things different.”

“Different would be what you’re doing right now. Different would be not acting normally around your children,” Laura argues gently. “And you _are_ different.” She swallows, trying not to let her emotions show as she says the words. “And this is also a place where you come to heal. You, Natasha...this is a place for me to make sure you’re both okay and that you’re okay before you go off into the world. It will _always_ be that to me, and it will always be that for you, no matter what kind of baggage you bring home.”

“Natasha…” Clint trails off, stroking his daughter’s head. “If it wasn’t for Natasha, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s the truth, Laura knows, but somehow she feels like she can’t let her mind accept it. “Don’t talk like that,” she says instead, fighting to keep her voice firm. “Your team was looking for you. You would’ve found a way out of…out of his mind.” She doesn’t like saying Loki’s name out loud, it unnerves her and makes her feel uncomfortable, and Clint shakes his head in response.

“I don’t know if I would have, Laura.”

Laura lets out a breath, gently prying Lila out of his arms and moving her daughter to her lap. “So, what? You’re going to refuse to accept the fact that you’ve changed, even though you survived this? Even though you _know_ you can survive this?” She puts her free hand on his arm, wrapping her fingers around the still-healing cuts. “Nothing that happened will change the way we think about you, Clint, as a father or a husband or a partner. I promise.”

The look hidden in his eyes when he meets her own makes her want to cry again, because she sees it clearly: the confirmation of the words he probably couldn’t make himself say, the fear that Laura suspects is crushing down on his ever-present worry of not being enough. Laura uncurls her fingers from his arm and puts them around his shoulders instead, drawing him in. While it doesn’t do much to stop the hurt she feels coursing through her, it does make her feel slightly better knowing she can hold him like this.

“I could hurt you.”

Laura grinds her teeth together. “You won’t.”

“I could hurt the kids.”

That one is harder for Laura to throw back in his face. She would be lying to say it wasn’t a concern she had thought of from the moment Natasha had mentioned he would be changed in some capacity but ignores the worry pressing into her brain, because she knows there’s no way to force his mind to forget what happened, or to make him let go of the fear that he’ll make the situation worse.

“I know you,” she says after a moment. “And I know who I married. I trust that decision every single day.”

Clint raises his head and looks unconvinced. “I don’t think you understand. I’m not myself, not when I think of him, or when I dream of him. I _know_ I’m not. I lose control. There’s no…there’s no off switch.” He pauses. “I’ve seen it happen with Nat.”

“I understand,” Laura says a little too bluntly, shifting Lila in her arms. “And I also understand that whatever happened to Nat, whatever you’ve seen her do, it hasn’t happened with you.” She watches his face, the way the lines around his mouth even out as he processes the truth of her words, the creases between his eyes and on his forehead disappearing into a sea of coarse, scarred skin.

“It’s not easy.”

“No,” Laura agrees quietly, keeping her grip tight around his body. “It’s not.” She takes a deep breath, letting the oxygen settle in her expanded lungs before she speaks again. “But I didn’t sign up for easy when I married you.”

He looks at her with eyes even brighter than Laura had noticed before, a watery smile filling a silence that’s interrupted by Lila’s sudden babbling.

“I would take this life -- as messy and as frustrating and as _strange_ at it is sometimes -- I would choose it over ten other lives, Clint.” She moves a hand over Lila’s head, thinking of Cooper downstairs. “I am lucky to have you as a husband, and the children are lucky to have you as a father, and Natasha is lucky to have you as a partner. _We_ are lucky to have you in our lives, Clint, because you matter to us.” Lila continues her one-woman conversation, and Laura bounces her against her body as she gets up, shifting her daughter to one arm.

"Mommy, I wan' milk in my baba!"

“Come on.” She extends her free hand, determined to reroute the day back to something resembling normalcy, at least, for a little while. “Lila wants her bottle. Breakfast is almost ready, and I have waffles for us. Your favorite kind, with the banana flavor.”

Lila’s head perks up at Laura’s words and Clint rises from the bed, opening his arms to her in silence. Laura considers the gesture for a brief moment and then hands her daughter over, watching him leave the bedroom while she fishes her phone out of her pocket.

_We miss you._

“Laura?”

“In a moment,” she calls back as she slowly follows, staring down at the phone, clutching it harder as the screen lights up.

_Miss you too. How’s he holding up?_

Laura lets her fingers hover over the keys for a little too long, trying to figure out how to respond.

 _Okay, I think. We’re trying._ Her phone immediately buzzes back.

 _If he needs to know, tell him I love him._ _You, too._

Laura lets herself indulge in a quiet laugh, an overwhelming feeling of relief spreading through her bones at the simple fact that Natasha _knew_ , and knew what to say without any other prompting. She slides the phone into her pocket as she continues down the stairs and approaches the kitchen, finding Clint sitting at the table, having already served most of the waffles that Laura had been making. Lila, secure in her high chair, is playing with her own small allowance of food, and Cooper looks up with a grin as she enters the room.

“Dad says we can go outside later!” Cooper says with a wide smile, his mood considerably brightened. “Then we’re gonna go to the farmer’s market.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Laura raises her eyebrows at Clint, who shrugs and ruffles his son’s hair.

“Gotta get you more vegetables if you’re gonna be the star of baseball, right?”

Cooper looks horrified at the words. “No vegetables,” he says vehemently while Clint nods.

“Yes, vegetables. Unless you don’t want to have that practice today after all.”

“Mom!” Cooper looks positively despondent as Lila throws a spare Cheerio at the table with a laugh, and Laura shakes her head. Any other day, she knows, her and Clint would be running themselves ragged breaking up fights or honoring and denying multiple requests about food or playtime. But for the first time in a long time, Laura realizes she wants nothing more than to _let_ her family be normal and overwhelming, even if it’s going to drive her crazy in the end. As she reaches for her coffee, Clint grabs her hand under the table.

_We’ll be okay._

Laura looks around at her family and takes a deep breath as Cooper reaches for another waffle and Lila yells again, reminding herself to share Natasha’s words with Clint later, when they have time to be alone.


	10. 2007

Laura’s favorite days at the farm are the ones where it’s warm enough to open the windows but cold enough to let the house air out with gentle Midwestern breezes; the ones where she gets up early enough to appreciate a quiet house with Cooper playing happily in the living room, the ones when she gets to see the first pink hues of dawn spread over the sky upon opening the door to pick up the paper -- and especially the ones where Clint is home and she knows he’s not going to get called away unexpectedly.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Laura teases when he makes his way down the stairs around nine, rubbing his eyes. She hands him coffee in his favorite mug, a depiction of a sad looking basset hound with the words MORNINGS ARE FOR DOGS written around the side, and wraps her arms around his neck because Laura loves this, also -- being able to share slow, intimate moments that sometimes feel far and few between. Clint grunts as he pulls away, but he’s smiling, and Laura recognizes the noise as his patented “pre-coffee” headspace.

“I was thinking I’d fix the sink today,” he says after he takes a long drink, sufficiently waking up enough to say more than two words. He puts his mug down before walking over to pour himself a bowl of granola. “I know it’s been leaking.”

“It’s been leaking for days,” Laura reminds him, but she doesn’t say the words out of frustration. She knows she’s capable of doing things herself or even calling a friend, but Clint’s projects were exactly that -- Clint’s projects. And unless whatever needed fixing was something that required life to stop completely, she was content to wait until he was home long enough to take care of it.

“Should only take a few hours,” he says, shoving a spoon in his mouth. “Then maybe we can take Cooper to the park. It’s a nice day, we can take the trail behind the house like we’ve been wanting to for awhile.”

Laura nods absently, pouring herself a second cup of coffee. “I could use the morning, if you want to do the sink then. I have some work to do anyway, and I’m behind on grading.”

“Still in a relationship with that red pen, huh?” Clint asks with a smirk and Laura rolls her eyes.

“My red pen and I are currently helping us feed our son, so I’d think twice before you insult her,” she says lightly, peeking into the living room, relieved to see that Cooper is still occupying himself with his toys. When she turns her attention back to Clint, he’s clenching and unclenching his fist on the table.

“Can we talk?” he asks hesitantly and Laura stares at him in confusion, pulling the strap of her robe tighter around her middle.

“Of course,” she says, taking a seat at the table. Clint takes a long breath.

“Remember when you asked me if I loved Natasha?”

Laura feels her heart skip up her chest, settling in her throat. “Yes,” she says cautiously, abandoning her coffee cup in favor of taking his hand. “Did something happen?”

Clint laughs a little cynically. “Not really,” he says slowly. “But I think you’re right.” He bites down on his lip, before meeting her eyes. “I think I do love her.”

The words don’t shock her -- not really, not when she lets herself think about it. She _does_ believe that Clint hadn't been sure about how deep his feelings for Natasha went the first time he admitted his attraction to her. But Laura would have been a fool to believe there wasn’t something more developing, especially after being around them in the few times they’d visited together since Clint’s confession. It had been easy to tell how their partnership was becoming comfortable, a relationship as worn and cozy as the one Laura’s built for herself with the man she’s loved for almost eight years -- and Clint’s known Natasha for barely half of that time.

“Jesus, Laura. For god’s sake, _say_ something already.”

She hasn’t realized she’s been lost in thought, unresponsive, tilting the cup she’s picked up again a little too dangerously towards the floor until Clint speaks.

“I know,” she says, a placeholder of an answer as she attempts to gather her thoughts, shaking herself out of her stupor. Clint’s face pales instantly.

“You _know_?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret,” she continues bluntly, adjusting her hold on her coffee cup. “I’m not deaf, dumb and blind, Clint. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I’ve seen the way she looks at you. It’s the same way that I know you look at me.” She doesn’t tell Clint the other part of that equation, that she knows because it’s the same way _Natasha_ looks at her, because she’s not ready to divulge that piece of information just yet.

“So you know,” Clint repeats and Laura gets up, filling a glass and pouring more water into the coffee maker.

“Yes,” she says, hitting the button and watching the beginnings of a steady drip. She idly wonders how many Keurig cups Clint must go through when he stays at his apartment in New York, given that one pot split between them normally lasts one and a half cups each, at the most.

“You know. And you’re sitting here talking to me, making coffee and eating breakfast like it’s nothing,” he continues, his voice tinged with suspicion, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop on the conversation. Laura sighs quietly as she sits back down.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Clint says in frustration. “I don’t know what I want you to say but I want you to at least tell me this isn’t normal! Tell me that maybe I’m a mess, that maybe there’s something wrong with me, send me to my room and yell...god, Laura, I’m married to you and I’m in love with my _partner_.”

Laura stays quiet for a long time, focusing on the sound of the coffee maker, of Cooper playing in the next room, and tries to reconcile her thoughts. “Maybe it’s not normal,” she agrees slowly, knowing that if she doesn’t say something, Clint will beat himself up for days. “And it’s certainly not a conversation I ever thought I’d be having. But, I’d imagine that there would have to be worse confessions you could get from your husband. At least I know that Natasha's seen you naked.”

That makes Clint laugh at least, a low, throaty growl that reverberates throughout the kitchen. “I never looked at anyone before you,” he says after a long pause. “Even other girls I dated. And then for a long time, I looked at nobody _but_ you. And then Natasha happened.”

“And then Natasha happened,” Laura echoes, leaning forward and placing her palm on his own, while the coffee drips steadily in the background and the breeze whistles through an open window.

 _And then Natasha happened_ , she thinks, trying to stop the smile that wants to break out on her lips, the instant sentiment of affection that comes with just thinking of her name.

 

***

 

The first time Laura kisses Natasha of her own accord is after dinner, while Clint is taking Cooper for a walk.

It starts innocently enough -- a brush of fingers while passing the salad bowl, a quick glance when the shirt Natasha’s borrowing rides a little too much up her midsection -- and escalates when Natasha offers to stay and help Laura with the dishes, so that Clint can take his nighttime stroll with Cooper around the farm. In the wake of Natasha’s first kiss earlier in the summer, Laura has slowly been dipping her toes into the waters of a feeling she never thought she’d take seriously. But she also realizes that when she’s with Natasha, she’s not thinking about the fact that Natasha is another woman, or even about the fact that she’s her husband’s partner -- not to mention someone he’s verbally admitted he has feelings for. It should make the whole thing strange, or Laura thinks it _would_ if she didn’t doubt her husband’s intentions and where his heart was.

“What’s that?”

Laura turns around, meeting Natasha’s concerned eyes. “What’s what?” She quickly scans the room, searching for something that’s gone wrong, something she might have missed seeing or hearing. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary save for Natasha’s wide, concerned eyes, which are lingering on her shoulder.

Natasha reaches up and touches Laura’s skin where her shirt has slipped, fingering a circle of rose-red discoloration. “Laura.” Her eyes turn dark. “What the hell happened? Did someone attack you? Did you get in a fight? Did --”

“Nat!” Laura quickly spins around, shoving the dishes she’s been washing back into the sink so that her still-wet hands are free to grab Natasha’s neck, slippery fingers massaging soft skin. “Nat, no. No.” She reaches up, dragging one hand through her hair, shaking her head. “No one hurt me, okay? I promise.”

Natasha lets out a breath, her eyes clearing, and Laura realizes how intensely Natasha had been looking at her, how rapidly she had reacted. It was a primal fight or flight reaction that she probably had with Clint, an innate worry mixed with a sense of overprotective vengeance, ready to defend Laura at any cost the same way she would defend her partner. It makes Laura feel warm inside when she thinks about it; the fact that Natasha was experiencing those kinds of feelings towards _her_ , as if she places the same amount of importance on their relationship as Laura knows she does with Clint.

“If no one hurt you, what the hell is that?” Natasha asks tightly. Laura breathes in and out slowly a few times, dropping her hands from Natasha’s face.

“Come sit,” she says quietly, motioning to the table before drying her hands with the dish towel. Natasha moves slowly, sitting down, regarding Laura carefully.

“I…” Laura swallows, licking her lips nervously as she slides into the chair across from her. “After Clint’s accident a few years ago, I started taking some classes.”

“Classes.” Natasha’s brow furrows in concern. “What _kind_ of classes?”

“Self defense classes,” Laura says almost immediately. “Ninja training, kick boxing, wrestling, a bit of martial arts. Nothing too serious.”

“Nothing too serious,” Natasha repeats. “Except you’ve got bruises like we do, training to kill.” She puts her hand on Laura’s shoulder again and Laura grabs for her palm, which is resting on her knee.

“Are you worried about me?”

“Of course I’m worried about you!” Natasha returns sharply. “You look like you’re hurt, and I don’t ever want…” She stops, taking a deep breath. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt. Whether it’s because of a broken arm or a headache or something more, and _especially_ if it’s something more...Laura, I don’t want this life for you, if you don’t have to have it.”

Laura listens in silence, letting an awkward pause fall between them. “I go to classes twice a week,” she admits. “But it’s not because I want to be a part of this life, or whatever life you guys have. It’s because this is something I want to do for myself. In case...I mean…” She feels her voice breaking and fights to keep it steady. “If anyone ever comes here, if Clint’s not here and you’re not here, I need to be able to defend my children. I need to be able to defend myself. And I can’t shoot a gun or shoot a bow and arrow, and I can’t call up someone to help me.”

Natasha looks both surprised and concerned. “Does Clint know about all of this?”

Laura nods. “I asked him before I started, if he thought I should do it. He was the one who found me someone in town. He even vetted their credentials, so that they wouldn’t work me too hard. Or too easily.” She tightens her fingers around Natasha’s hand. “I need to feel safe, Nat. What if...what if something happens, and Clint’s here, but he’s hurt and he can’t help me? What if you’re not here to help me? I didn’t…”

“Laura.” Natasha’s gentle voice cuts into her words, but she ignores the interruption.

“No, Natasha. You don’t get to pull some authoritative SHIELD rank and talk me out of this. When you brought Clint to me that first night we met, when he was hurt, I realized I didn’t even have medication for him. I didn’t know how to help him. I don’t know this world, Nat. I don’t know _your_ world, but I can’t sit by and be helpless anymore. No one is going to touch me or my family or you, not unless I let them. _No one_.”

She realizes she’s talking too fast, losing sight of her argument thanks to the way that her emotions are unraveling, but she can’t seem to make herself stop. Laura gets up, unable to sit still anymore, walking back to the sink and picking up a plate again.

“Laura.” Natasha’s voice sounds far away and then closer, and soon she’s dragging her fingers through Laura’s hair, leaning her head against her back. “Laura, I’m not going to talk you out of it.”

Laura’s breath catches in her throat, and she chokes down an unexpected sob. “You’re not?”

Natasha shakes her head against Laura’s spine. “No. Laura, please believe me when I say that we’re _always_ going to be here to take care of you, to do whatever we can to protect you. But it’s your decision to do this, and I am so proud of you.” She kisses the back of Laura’s scalp, hugging her more tightly. “You’re so much stronger than you think you are, you know that?”

Laura feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes and whirls around suddenly, causing Natasha to both startle and pull away. Laura grabs her around the neck, pulling her back in, her fingers massaging the pressure points of Natasha’s throat. She finds herself kissing Natasha as if she needs her like air to breathe, like she’s opening up a part of her that she’s never realized she’s needed to unlock in order to live.

“Laura,” Natasha gasps when she finally breaks free, and Laura runs her tongue over swollen lips. She’s breathing heavily, the house quiet except for their shared exhales.

“Do that again,” Natasha says after a moment and Laura doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward again as Natasha pushes in. She stumbles back against counter and a rush of warm water from the still-running faucet spills over the side of the sink, soaking the floor and the bottom of her shirt. Laura ignores it as she continues to kiss Natasha.

“Well.” Natasha’s face is flushed when they break away again, her gaze bordering on amused and, Laura thinks, possibly aroused. “Clint never mentioned that you were _that_ wild when it came to being intimate.”

Laura suddenly feels embarrassed. “I don’t…” She finds Natasha’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Laura.” Natasha smiles gently. “If you think for one second that I’m mad, or upset, or even uncomfortable that you just kissed me like that, you’re insane. Who do you think kissed you in the first place?”

Laura looks at Natasha and nods shakily, while Natasha continues to play with her hair.

“You asked me awhile ago...you said…” Laura gestures with her free hand. “You said this is whatever I wanted it to be.”

Natasha blinks. “Yes,” she says curiously, wrapping her fingers around Laura’s forearm. “I did.”

Laura fights a sudden chill. “I want it to be. I mean. I want it to be a thing.” She hates that she’s stumbling over words; Clint had been so easy to talk to and open up to that she never once felt awkward about any conversation they had to have, even when it came to their first few dates. She feels more sheepish about the fact that she _knows_ how she feels about Natasha, which should make everything easier.

Natasha smiles faintly. “Yeah?”

Laura breathes out slowly, remembering how it had felt to have Natasha’s lips on her own. “Yeah.”

Natasha smiles, bringing a hand up to Laura’s face. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she says, leaning in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

 

***

 

Clint isn’t exactly a fan of being sent off on missions that he feels like junior agents can take care of with their eyes closed, but there had been a legitimate reason for Fury to send them over to the outskirts of Geneva -- and according to the reports, those reasons included a highly dangerous ops team who, should they turn, would practically destroy anyone with minimal training. Clint and Natasha, however...well, being Strike Team: Delta, it took more than a few bullets and traps to take them down, not that the people they were staking out knew that. At least, not yet.

“You know, I could really go for a burger when this is done,” Clint says as they stretch out in the room of their safe house. It’s simple as far as safe houses go, two small rooms and a twin bed, but it’s nicer than some of the places SHIELD has given them when they’ve stayed overseas.

“A burger?” Natasha asks skeptically, her voice filtering out from somewhere in his armpit.

“Yeah,” Clint says, sighing loudly. “Preferably a Big Mac with bacon. And cheese. Lots and lots of American cheese.”

“Ugh, gross,” Natasha mutters, burrowing into him. “That makes me not even want to sleep with you later.”

“Hey, I didn’t say you had to think of a burger,” Clint protests, realizing he feels a little dejected at her words.

“Too late,” Natasha returns with a small yawn. “Attraction lost. Please try your call again later.”

“Brat,” he mutters, nuzzling his face into her hair as she sighs contentedly, a sound he matches without thinking about it. Ever since he had come clean to Laura about his feelings for Natasha and about their intimacy, he’d felt like a weight had been removed from his chest, like a dark cloud had lifted. It didn’t take him long to notice the change, the way the carefree, easy-going manner he knows he used to carry around with him had returned with a vigor -- Natasha had noticed it and Laura had noticed it, too, and it had made both of his relationships the strongest that they’d been in a long time.

“Ugh,” Natasha says again as Clint’s phone starts to ring. “It’s almost midnight. Can’t Coulson give it a rest?”

“That’s not Coulson,” Clint says, his mind suddenly snapping into alertness from where it’s been slipping into lazy sleep as the shrill, bubbly ringtone continues to blare from inside his bag. “That’s my personal cell.”

Natasha pushes up on her elbows as Clint rolls out of bed, stumbling towards his bag and grabbing the phone from inside, bringing it to his ear.

“Clint.”

“Laura.” Clint feels his mouth go dry. “Laura, what…”

“Clint, I promise, everything’s okay --”

“Everything’s not okay,” Clint says pointedly, cutting her off. “You never call me while I’m on an assignment, unless it’s an emergency.” His mind races through what Laura would be calling about that could constitute interrupting him on a mission, when both him and Natasha were here: Cooper, Laura’s parents, one of Laura’s friends...

Laura sighs in resignation. “Fine. I didn’t want to do this over email or wait until later because I know you’ll freak out, but Cooper broke his leg. I’m on my way to the hospital now.”

“ _What_?” Clint leans forward into the phone, ignoring the way he can see Natasha sitting up straighter out of the corner of his eye. “Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Laura says and there’s an edge to her voice that Clint immediately picks up on, one that he doesn’t like. “I need to get to the hospital and see how bad it is.”

Clint falls silent, staring at the hideously patterned carpet. “I can come home.”

“Clint.” Laura’s voice is firm. “Absolutely not. I told you, he’ll be okay. He needs to get checked out, but I'll let you know if there’s anything serious that you need to be aware of.”

Clint closes his eyes, his heart pounding as guilt surges through his chest. “How did he get hurt?”

“Tried to climb a tree at pre-school and fell. I swear to god, I’m going to kill him, once I get over my anxiety,” Laura says, and Clint can hear her starting up the car.

“I should be there.”

“Where you should be is doing your job,” Laura responds, though Clint can tell she’s trying to convince herself that the words are the right things to say. “The job that you love doing and the job that you made the choice to make a priority. You and Natasha need to save a world, Clint. And I need to take care of our child. He’s a tough kid, he’ll be okay.”

“That’s about the fifth time you’ve said that, and I don’t like it,” Clint grumbles into the phone, keeping his voice low. He knows Natasha’s been listening the entire time anyway, but he hasn’t checked to see if she’s moved from her spot on the bed. Laura groans.

“Clint, it’s almost midnight there. Or something. Go to bed, okay? Tell Natasha I said hi.”

Clint sighs, recognizing the finality in Laura’s voice, knowing it’s futile to argue with her any more. “Can you at least call me later so I can talk to him? I’ll be up. I promise.”

“Yes, Clint, I can call you. Okay?” Laura’s voice softens. “And I’ll call you when everything gets checked out, too. Now go to bed. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint mutters as the call drops. He lets his phone fall to the floor, closing his eyes before getting up and moving back to the bed where Natasha is still sitting up, legs crossed Indian-style.

“What happened?”

Clint climbs back into the covers, his heart still beating in overdrive. “Cooper broke his leg.”

Natasha looks up in surprise. “What? How?”

Clint winces. “Recess, I think. He was trying to climb a tree, and he fell.”

“Shit,” Natasha says under her breath, before glancing up again. “He really _is_ your kid. Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says quietly. “I guess. But he’s scared. And he’s alone.”

“I doubt that,” Natasha says dully. “Laura’s with him, right? And besides, kids are resilient. More so than we are, even. They barely feel pain...they have no fear. I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Clint says a little bitterly. “You’re not normal.”

Natasha’s face darkens at that, her whole body stiffening. “Excuse me?”

Clint knows he should backtrack, he knows that he should take the opportunity to end this argument here and now before it gets worse, but something about Natasha’s reaction frustrates him and he suddenly can’t stop the rest of his words.

“Look, you don’t know my kid, Nat. You don’t know what makes him upset, and what movies he likes to watch when he’s sick, and what he means when he tells you he doesn’t want to go to sleep. You don’t know what he cries about when he has nightmares and what his favorite books are. You don’t _know_.”

Natasha stares at him, her eyes narrowing, and then presses her lips together in a thin line. “You’re right,” she says after a moment of silence, and her voice is so deadly calm, it sends a chill down his spine. “I don’t know. How could I know _anything_ about your kid, Clint? I’ve only been a part of your family for the past few years. I’ve only been asked to participate in all the birthdays and holidays. I’ve only helped your kid get through being sick when no one else knew what to do. I’ve only read to him and watched Laura make his favorite food. But I had no kids of my own and my childhood wasn’t normal, so how could I _ever_ know what it feels like?”

“Because you’re not a mother!” Clint bursts out, the panic overtaking him and causing him to spiral into overwhelming fury. “Because you’re not _his_ mother. Because he’s my child, Natasha, and he’s not yours.”

Clint regrets saying the words as soon as they leave his mouth, regrets them even more when he sees Natasha’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears that he knows she would never let show if she wasn’t genuinely affected.

“Natasha. I --”

“Shut up,” Natasha interrupts sharply. “Just...shut up.” She turns over onto her side and Clint doesn’t know whether it’s because she’s trying to hide her emotions, or because she’s too angry to say anything else. He realizes that he only knows one thing: he needs to go home. He gets up off the bed and starts packing up his suitcase, shoving his bow back together, and Natasha turns over at the sound.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Barton?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Clint asks, straightening up and reaching for his jacket. “I’m going home.”

“Clint,” Natasha says incredulously. “You can’t just _leave_ in the middle of a mission. For fuck’s sake, you’re insane.”

“I’m a father,” Clint returns roughly. “And insane or not, I need to be home.” He whirls around without waiting for an answer, walking out of the safe house, not letting himself look back.

 

***

 

After hailing a taxi that takes him to the outskirts of the city, he calls base and conveniently bypasses being transferred to anyone holding court on their current assignment, coaxing one of the junior agents into sending him an extra quinjet under the bribe of doing their paperwork and bringing them coffee for two extra weeks. His phone beeps noisily once he lands -- one missed call from Natasha, one message from Fury and two from Coulson -- but he ignores the notifications as he walks into the hospital, shoving the phone into his pants as he grabs a visitor’s pass from reception and approaches the waiting room on the Pediatric floor. If his handler and his boss and his partner _really_ wanted to ream him out, they could fly here and do it in person.

“Cooper Barton,” he practically spits out, trying to keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. He hadn’t bothered to call Laura before he jumped from his mission, but if he had timed it right, they should still be here, he knows, considering they were only just on their way to the hospital when she had called. The woman behind the desk gives him a long, judgemental look and then turns back to her computer screen.

“Did you hear what I said?” Clint asks, resisting the urge to pound his fist against the desk. “I’m looking for Cooper Barton --”

“I heard you, sir,” the receptionist drones, looking up again with a bored expression. “But I’m not psychic. He’s set up in Room 281. I assume you’re the father?”

Clint thinks about shoving his SHIELD ID in the woman’s face, then thinks better of it and simply nods, reaching for his driver’s license instead. The receptionist glances at it quickly before waving him off, and he starts walking quickly down the hall, practically bursting through the door when he reaches the room he's been directed him to.

“Daddy!”

“Clint!”

Laura rocks up from where she’s been sitting in a hospital chair, shoving herself into his arms and he doesn’t miss the way she clutches at his back as if she needs to hold onto him for dear life. “Clint, how...you’re supposed to be in Geneva. How did you get here?”

“Flew,” he says quickly, looking over at Cooper, who’s propped up on one arm. Despite his messy hair and a face streaked with tears, he looks otherwise happy and unharmed, save for the cast covering a large portion of his lower leg, up to just above his knee.

“Hey, kiddo.” He walks over to his son and bends over, kissing him. “Daddy’s here. How’s your leg?”

“Hurts,” Cooper says, pushing his lips into a pout. “A lot. But I got a cool cast and everything! And I’m gonna to get everyone to write on it.”

“He asked for _purple_ coloring when they put it on,” Laura adds, crossing her arms. “No idea why.”

Clint forces out a laugh, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Hey, you’re gonna be a superhero with those colors, right? Like dad?”

“Just like dad,” Cooper says proudly, shifting as much as he can on the bed. Laura squeezes Clint’s hand.

“We were in the emergency room when we first got here, then they moved us to this room after they put the cast on. Normally, they'd require an orthopedist to do that, but the doctor was able to do it for him. They said it's what's called a closed reduction -- they could set the bone from the outside, which should help the fracture heal better."

"Fracture," Clint repeats slowly. "So not totally broken?"

"Well, broken enough," says Laura, dropping her voice. "There's no question about that. It's still bad. He was scared and in a lot of pain, but they gave him some medication with an IV and then calmed him down with some candy. The cast will be on for awhile, though they said kids are supposed to heal pretty quickly compared to adults. And I can show you the X-Rays, if you want.”

"Let's hope that's true," Clint mutters.

Laura smiles. "Well, the doctor clearly hasn't met your superhuman recovery skills. Or Natasha's."

Clint tries to smile back, but the mention of Natasha's name sends another jolt through his adrenaline-heavy body. Laura reaches up and strokes his hair, pushing past what he knows is a recently acquired bruise on his forehead.

“Where’s Nat, anyway?”

“She’s…” Clint stops and shakes his head. “Forget it. I’ll tell you later.”

Laura eyes him suspiciously. “Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because.” Clint glances towards Cooper. “I don’t want to. Not here. Let’s just finish up and get him home, okay?”

Laura stays silent but nods, and Clint knows he doesn’t have to elaborate on the fact that something went wrong between them. He also knows Laura respects their relationship enough to not push if she doesn’t think she needs to. Even so, he breathes a sigh of relief when she busies herself with talking to Cooper’s doctor after he arrives, introducing him to Clint, who pushes himself into the conversation and manages to distract himself by learning about healing times for broken bones, how to spot signs of infections and when to give proper doses of painkillers. They eventually usher Cooper out in a wheelchair along with a pair of small crutches, Clint helping him into the back seat of the minivan. Laura sits next to him the whole way home while Clint drives slower than usual, being careful to avoid any potholes or road bumps that will jostle his leg.

“Ugh, the stairs are going to be awful,” Clint mutters once they get inside the house, eyeing the double flight of wooden steps while Cooper hobbles in behind him, helped by Laura. Laura frowns as they close the door.

“We could keep him downstairs,” she says uncertainly, and Clint shakes his head.

“He’d be more comfortable in a real bed. And personally,  I’d be more comfortable with him across the hall.”

“I know that look,” Laura says with an eyebrow raise. “That’s the patented Clint Barton ‘I’m going to build something’ look.”

“Maybe,” Clint hedges, because he knows he can’t lie about his mind going there, and Laura rolls her eyes.

“If you can build an in-house elevator and do it within less than a week, I will truly think I’ve married MacGyver instead of a former bartender.” She looks down at Cooper. “Daddy’s going to carry you, okay honey?”

Cooper nods as Clint reaches down and scoops him up easily in his arms, carefully depositing him into his bed once they’re upstairs, Laura having gone ahead and pulled down the covers. Clint watches as Laura helps Cooper change into a shirt that covers most of his body, allowing his leg to stretch out fully in front of him, and then Laura sits on the floor while Clint picks up a book. Halfway through  _The Cat in the Hat_ , Cooper’s head starts to fall forward on Clint’s shoulder.

“Night, kiddo,” Clint says softly as both him and Laura get up, turning off the light. Clint keeps the door open as they leave the room, in case they need to be alerted to any cries of pain.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened with you and Natasha?” Laura asks as they return to the bedroom. Clint strips off his shirt and exhales, feeling all of the air leave his body as he slumps onto the bed.

“We had a fight,” he says quietly. “I may have...I…”

“You may have what?” Laura sits down next to him, her face lined with concern. “Clint, what did you say to her?”

He grimaces, reliving the words in his mind, feeling horribly guilty all over again. “I got angry,” he says quietly. “I told her she wasn’t a mother. That she wasn’t _his_ mother. That she didn’t know my kid, that she didn’t know _our_ kid. Laura, I…”

Laura’s become rigid beside him, her hand going slack in his own even as her entire body tenses and vibrates with what Clint can tell is both anger and frustration.

“Clint.” She swallows, her voice becoming hoarse. “How could you say those things?”

“I don’t know,” he admits miserably, bowing his head. “I was upset. I was worried. I...I’m so used to you, and used to how you react to everything. When something happens to our son, you’re so concerned. When she was so _nonchalant_ over Cooper being injured I just...she doesn’t know what it feels like, Laura.”

Laura smiles sadly. “I think she does. She just understands it in a different way. The way that she learned to live her life. Just because she doesn’t act the way I do, it doesn’t mean she can't carry the same amount of emotions. Especially when it comes to our kid. You know that, Clint. You’ve seen it.”

“I do know,” Clint says brokenly. “I do know that, now.”

Laura sighs and Clint closes his eyes, feeling her hands on the back of his neck. He tries to focus on her touch, because he knows enough to realize that if Laura’s playing with his hair, she can’t be totally pissed off.

“You have to figure out, with this job, when to be a father and when to be SHIELD,” she says softly, her hand moving slowly across his skin in comforting motions. “You can’t drop everything to be here if something happens that’s not a life or death situation...even if it means not being there for him. That’s not what you signed up for when you made the decision to have this life.”

“I signed up to protect the world, and to put my skills to good use,” Clint replies. “I didn’t sign up to give away my life and be a terrible parent.”

“You are not a terrible parent,” Laura soothes. “I promise. But you _do_ need to learn where your line is, Clint. Remember what I said when you asked me if you should take this job? That I needed you to be sure?”

“Yes,” Clint says, feeling defeated.

“I was serious. And I trusted your response.” Laura looks suddenly wistful. “Just be sure.”

Clint doesn’t respond to that, choosing to stare blankly across the room instead. “Natasha?”

“Natasha…” Laura trails off, following his gaze. “She loves you, Clint, and she’s still your partner. But you probably hurt her in a way that might not be easily forgivable.”

The moment Laura says the words, Clint knows she’s right, and the guilt that he’s managed to push away flows right back as he replays the terrible words in his mind, along with Natasha’s shocked face and her broken tone.

“I don’t get it.” Clint looks up, blinking back tears. “How do you know my partner better than I do?”

Laura looks a little embarrassed, but before Clint can wonder about it, her face clears. “I don’t,” she says with a shrug. “We’re still getting to know each other. But _do_ I know what kind of person she is, Clint. And I know that from you. You helped me find a connection with her. Besides,” she adds a little teasingly, “we both know that it takes a very special kind of person to put up with you.”

“Hey,” Clint says defensively, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel as hurt as he knows he does, and Laura manages a smile.

“I’m glad you came home,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I am. I love you, and I’m so glad you’re here. But don’t...please don’t do this again. To me, or to her. Okay?”

Clint nods and thinks of Laura, and thinks of his son sleeping across the hall, and tries not to cry.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Four days later, Clint is running errands while Laura helps Cooper take a much needed bath. She settles him in his room afterwards with a coloring book and a few snacks before she feels comfortable enough to make her way downstairs, with the intent of finally starting to clean what has become a supremely messy house in the wake of spending a majority of her time focusing on Cooper’s injury. Laura stops short when she reaches the landing and sees the figure standing in the living room; even without the help of light to distinguish the red hair, she knows it’s not Clint.

“Hi,” Laura says quietly as she approaches Natasha, who’s still lingering near the entryway, encased in the day's dreary shadows.

“Hi,” Natasha returns after a beat, her eyes downcast, and Laura feels her heart break. She has no idea if Clint and Natasha have actually spoken to each other since their fight, but with the way Natasha’s acting, she’s guessing that answer is no. Laura takes a deep breath.

“How are you doing?”

Natasha shifts in place. “Okay. I don’t need to stay, really. I just wanted to come here and see how Cooper was doing.”

“He’s fine,” Laura says with a small smile. “He’s excited he gets a cool cast, with Clint’s uniform colors, obviously. He’s even more excited that he gets to have people draw on it.” She reaches out before she can stop herself and takes Natasha’s hand, feeling her tense almost immediately.

“Clint told me what he said,” Laura says softly, not knowing why she feels the need to open up this conversation but feeling like she needs to say _something_ , and half of Natasha’s mouth lifts.

“I’m sure he did.” She withdraws her arm, still avoiding Laura’s eyes, and suddenly Laura can’t take the tension anymore.

“Why don’t you come here?” Laura asks gently and Natasha hesitates, glancing towards the door, while Laura tries to find a way to stop her chest from aching. “Natasha.”

Natasha remains frozen for another moment but then starts to move, following Laura to the couch. When she sits down, all her edges fall off and she curls into Laura’s body, pressing herself close in a way that even Laura’s surprised at, despite the fact they’d been more open with their intimacy towards each other since Natasha’s first unexpected kiss late last year, and every kiss after that.

Laura pulls her fingers through Natasha’s hair, feeling the hot, short breaths of the other girl's hyperventilations against her shirt.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Natasha says tightly, her face still pressed into Laura’s body, and Laura looks down in confusion.

“Like what?”

“Like the way I know you’re looking at me. Like I’m something that’s broken...like I’m something that needs to be taken care of.”

Laura bites down on a cry, her mind flashing to the way Natasha had curled up in her bed not so long ago, shaking and crying on the night she came randomly to the house, every inch of her stripped in a way that Laura had never seen before -- a way that reminded her just how young Clint’s partner actually was outside of her skills and job and looks.

“I do think you need to be taken care of,” she says slowly. “Everyone does, sometimes. Even me. Even Clint.” Natasha tenses as Laura says her husband's name, and Laura tries to ignore the reaction. “But you’re right, that doesn’t mean I need to treat you like a china doll.”

Natasha raises her head, her eyes wet, and Laura drags a hand gently down Natasha's tear-streaked face.

“You know, I forget sometimes that you’re still young,” Laura says as her other hand continues to play with Natasha’s hair. “Even when you aren’t out working, you always act older than I am.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Natasha says quietly. “I wish I wasn’t made this way.”

“And what way is that?” Laura asks gently, folding Natasha’s palm in her own. Natasha swallows.

“Not normal.”

Laura closes her eyes briefly and then pulls Natasha in close again, resting their heads together. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs into her hair. “I don’t want to make excuses for him. But you know he didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Natasha says after a moment, and Laura feels an increasing amount of wetness against her neck. “And that’s why I feel so stupid crying about it. As stupid as I feel sitting on this couch, coming here because I wanted to talk to someone and had nowhere else to go.”

Laura hugs the other girl tighter, placing gentle kisses across her forehead as she raises her head to wipe her face with the aid of her shirt sleeve.

“Please stay,” Laura says as Natasha takes a few shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself down. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You’re not going to lose me,” she says, but Laura notices that she sounds uncertain. “I’m just...I don't know what to do. I’m not his mother.”

“Yes,” Laura says firmly. “You are. You may not be his mother by birth, and you may not have gotten to know him until he was older, but you’ve been there for him when he’s needed you. You came here just to see if he was okay, even though you didn’t have to.”

Natasha shakes back her hair. “I care about him,” she says. “And I care about this family. I just can’t be the person I’m expected to be.”

“Natasha.” Laura tries to smile. “No one is expecting you to be anything except _you_. I promise. Not even that dumb, idiot husband of mine.”

Natasha smiles back cautiously, and Laura sighs again.

“Maybe it’s time to tell him,” she says slowly, after another beat of silence. “About us. Maybe it would help.”

Natasha snorts quietly. “I’m not sure this is the best time,” she says, glancing towards the door, as if she expects to be interrupted at any moment. “I like what we have, what we’re _having_ and...I don’t know if I can take that rejection, if he doesn’t see it in the same way.”

Laura’s stomach churns, a part of her feeling more disappointed than she wants to admit, though she understands why, at the moment, Natasha’s not pushing the decision like she normally would. “Okay. We’ll wait a bit, then, until you feel more comfortable.”

Natasha nods and Laura inclines her head towards the kitchen. “Clint’s running a few errands, but he’ll be home soon. I can make you breakfast if you haven’t eaten yet. Or even if you have.”

Natasha makes a face. “It’s almost noon.”

“And I’ve been up since five, so breakfast in this house can happen whenever I decide I want it to happen.” She kisses Natasha on the cheek and then holds out a hand, and Natasha lets Laura pull her to her feet. By the time she’s settled in a chair eating scrambled eggs and drinking cranberry juice, Clint’s walking through the door with a grunt, stomping dirty boots against the hardwood.

“I tried to get the detergent you wanted, but they were all out, so I had to go with the grocery store stuff -- _oh_.” He breaks off when he sees Natasha sitting at the table, and clutches the bag of groceries tighter. “When did you get here?”

“This morning,” Natasha says cagily and Laura doesn’t bother to weigh in on the semi-lie. “Wanted to see how Cooper was doing.”

Clint’s gaze turns downcast. “He’s doing okay,” he says, gesturing towards the stairs. “Upstairs in his room, if you want to see him.”

“I will after breakfast,” Natasha says pointedly and Laura watches Clint rock on the balls of his feet while she pours coffee for herself, trying to ignore the conversation as much as she can.

“I, uh...the op went okay?”

“After you left?” Natasha asks in a voice that’s more calm than Laura thinks she’s ever heard. “Yes. I managed fine, thank you. No lasting injuries, or anything terrible.”

Clint swallows. “That’s good,” he says, putting the groceries down on the floor. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, Nat --”

“Clint.” Natasha puts down her fork and looks up. “I’m not going anywhere. At least, not right away. So come sit down, act normal, and we’ll do this whole apology thing after you eat. Okay?”

Clint closes his mouth and then takes a seat at the table, while Laura brings him food and ruffles his hair gently.

 

***

 

As Clint learns, there’s no good time to address their concerns -- not until well after dinner, when Clint and Natasha (who Cooper’s delighted to see and even more delighted to receive presents from) have helped Laura put Cooper to bed. Laura has wisely left them both alone and Natasha has brought her mission bag with her but not much else, so Laura lends her one of her sundresses and Clint meets her outside on the porch, the darkening sky casting a heavy blue glow over the farm.

“You are in a shit ton of trouble, you know,” Natasha says when he stops next to her, leaning over the rail. “Fury’s ready to kill you.”

“Yeah, I got that memo,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already broken down my door.”

Natasha sighs in frustration. “He hasn't, because I told him I’d do it myself. I don’t know why. It’s not like I deserve to help you out with anything after what you did to me.”

Clint nods slowly. “Thanks,” he says softly, before pausing. “Are you mad at me?”

Natasha gives him a look. “Yes,” she says shortly, crossing her arms, before turning her attention away from him.

“I never should have said those things.”

“No,” Natasha agrees, still not looking at him. “You never should have said them. But you also never should have left me like that in the middle of a mission. You broke your protocol, Clint. You broke our trust, as partners and as people who swore we would always have each other’s backs, no matter what. Do you know what that felt like? To be _abandoned_ in the middle of an assignment? I would have understood if it was an emergency,” Natasha continues. “I would have even taken the fall for you, if Laura was hurt, if Cooper was really sick, if her parents were in the hospital. You know that I care about your family as much as you do, and I fully support you making them a priority, but you _left_ me. You completely abandoned me and then didn’t even call to ask what happened. You didn’t even bother to wonder if I was remotely okay.”

Clint lets the words settle into his brain, the harshness and the truth of them, because while Natasha never lets herself hold back no matter what the situation is, he also knows he deserves every stab of the hurt he can’t ignore. “I know. I’m sorry, Tash.” He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I really am. I wish I could take it all back.”

“You can’t,” Natasha says stiffly. “And I can accept that. But it doesn’t mean I’m not mad about it.”

Clint pushes against the rail until his palms hurt, letting his gaze settle on the stars that he can see starting to appear in the sky.

“What if I just keep saying I’m sorry over and over again?”

“Just shut up,” Natasha says curtly and Clint does, until Natasha breaks the silence again.

“I’ll forgive you if you spar with me.”

Clint’s head snaps up. “ _Now_?”

“Yes.” Natasha shrugs. “Why not? Laura’s occupied, and Cooper’s asleep.”

“Because...I dunno. I’m tired. Can’t we just like, yell at each other and get it over with?”

Natasha gives him a look that he knows he doesn’t even need to try and dissect.

“We really need to spar?”

“Yes,” Natasha repeats. “I’ve been looking forward to giving myself an excuse to kick your ass for days, Barton. And you should be glad that’s all I’m willing to give you right now.”

Clint groans, closing his eyes. “Fine,” he relents, waving his hand around. “Barn?”

Natasha nods; it’s their usual place to let off aggression -- safe from any of nature's elements, far enough away that Cooper won’t wander in and wonder why two people are hitting each other (however harmlessly) and also a big enough space for them to move around easily without feeling claustrophobic. Clint pushes away from the rail and takes off across the lawn, Natasha following close behind, and she doesn’t bother to wait until he’s opened the door before she’s throwing him a hard right hook, hitting him with a force that leaves him stumbling.

“Jesus,” he spits out before he hits her back, quickly falling into a rhythm -- sparring with Natasha is almost like a dance, in which each of them knows how far to push the other before they _actually_ get hurt, thanks to their familiarity with each other's bodies and skills. It’s never so much about who wins or who loses as much as it’s about power, but while Clint can hold his own decently well, Natasha’s anger definitely overpowers his reflexes. Within ten minutes, he’s down for the count, writhing in pain on the floor.

“That’s for leaving me,” Natasha says as she delivers another hard punch before stepping back, holding out a hand in what Clint thinks is a laughable sort of peace offering. He takes it anyway, letting her pull him painfully to his feet.

“Don’t make it a habit,” she says as she kisses him on the cheek, her lips resting on his sore skin.

“Don’t plan to,” he mutters, rubbing his jaw. He’ll have more than a few bruises in the morning, some cuts too, probably, things he’ll have to hand wave to Cooper while Laura will get the full truth, though he knows Laura’s response will likely be something cheeky along the lines of asking why she didn’t get to watch -- a different reaction that she would have had a few years ago, and one that Clint prefers rather than overprotective yelling.

“I think I’m done pissing you off for awhile.”

“Good,” Natasha replies, putting her arm around his shoulders as they walk slowly out of the barn and back towards the house. Laura’s standing at the porch, rocking back and forth in the large swing, and her face twists into a frown when they start to walk up the steps.

“Clint.” She springs from the chair, closing the distance between them.

“I’m fine. I deserved it,” he mumbles and Laura sighs quietly, helping Natasha walk him inside.

“Do I need to check you out?”

“I was both thorough and careful,” Natasha answers, smiling tightly. Laura sighs again, her hands moving over Clint's face, frowning when she brushes her fingers over what he knows is a particularly deep bruise.

“I’m sure you were,” she says finally, kissing Clint gently. “Bed.” She points to the stairs, and even though it’s barely eight, Clint knows he’s not going to argue. Laura turns her gaze towards Natasha.

“You, too,” she adds, and when Natasha doesn’t move, her voice softens. “I mean, if you still plan on staying.”

Natasha nods slowly, putting a hand on Clint’s back as she leads him up the stairs, Laura following close behind.

 

***

 

As has become custom, Natasha ends up staying at the farm longer than she means to, settling in among Clint’s habits and Laura’s rituals, helping to take care of Cooper as he tries to move on a leg that he doesn’t understand he can’t fully use. Nick Fury shows up a few days into the week and when Laura becomes aware of the black-suited man walking up their lawn, she wisely shepherds her son, who has been sitting on her lap with his leg propped on a table, inside for an impromptu game of SORRY. Fifteen minutes later, the front door opens and slams harshly and Clint stomps up the stairs, barely pausing to throw them a glance.

“Leave him,” Natasha says quietly, putting her hand on Laura’s arm when Laura starts to move on instinct. There’s a look in Natasha’s eyes that tells her she’d be wrong to refute the other girl’s orders and so Laura goes back to their board game, until Cooper decides he wants to play with his train set instead.

“How long do we leave him like that?” Laura asks in a low voice while Cooper examines a locomotive, handing it over to Natasha in glee.

“I’d give him a few hours,” Natasha says as she turns Cooper’s toy over in her hands, and Laura stares at her with raised brows.

“A few _hours_?”

Natasha looks unconcerned. “He broke protocol. I don’t think Fury was very happy with him. I’m sure he had a pretty bad confrontation, even if he deserved it.”

Laura throws a look towards the stairs and then gets up, heading to the kitchen. Seconds later, she becomes aware of movement in the corner of her vision, turning around to find Natasha carrying Cooper, who opens up his arms and attaches himself to his mother’s body.

“Hi.” Laura looks down in surprise as her son grins up at her, sandwiched between her and Natasha. “You want to help me with dinner, Coop?”

“Yeah!” Cooper looks far too happy at the question and Natasha brings him to the table, setting him in one of the smaller chairs while elevating his leg.

“Nat, can you help me?” She calls a little too loudly, surprised when two hands instantly squeeze her around the waist.

“Right behind you,” Natasha breathes, her words tickling Laura’s skin. Natasha kisses her at the nape of the neck and then returns to the table to sit next to Cooper, who busies himself in what has become his apparent new favorite pastime: asking excitedly about Natasha’s curls.

“I’m waiting for the day when he asks me if he can dye his hair red in approximately fifteen years,” Laura says under her breath when there’s a break in the conversation. She’s speaking more to herself than anyone else, but she’s not surprised when Natasha laughs, her trained ears having picked up on the words.

“As someone who didn’t get a choice in the matter, let me assure you that if he ever _wants_ to dye his hair, it should be a color he can live with. Right, Cooper?”

“I’m gonna be red like Natasha!”

“Your hair color can be anything you want as long as you don’t give me a headache,” Laura promises as she begins work on the potatoes, watching skin fall around the cutting board. Once a handful have been shaved, Laura sticks them into a bowl.

“Don’t go crazy,” Laura warns, handing her son a wooden spoon as she puts the bowl down in front of him. Cooper being Cooper naturally ignores her, smashing the potatoes happily while Laura watches with a small smile.

“He’s worse than your husband on a bad day,” Natasha says as she gets up and walks to the fridge, adjusting magnets on the most recent pre-school drawings and birthday invitations. She takes out a red sippy cup, bringing it to the table as Laura registers the sound of creaking stairs, signaling the fact that Clint’s finally left his room, or wherever he’s been hiding out upstairs.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad was it?” Laura asks when he enters the kitchen. Cooper leans over and tries to stick his hands in the half-mashed potatoes as Clint sighs, leaning against the doorframe, his face looking more tired than usual, drawn and lined.

“Twenty.”

“Well.” Natasha shrugs. “You _did_ break protocol.”

“Ugh, f -- damn protocol,” Clint says, biting down on his expletive when Laura shoots him a sharp glare. “I know I was in the wrong, okay? Doesn’t make it any easier to get visits like this.”

Laura notices the pain in his eyes, remembering what he’d once told her about his own parents so long ago, and makes a mental note to spend some quality time with him before bed to get his mind off what’s probably eating away at his brain. She strokes Cooper’s hair as he continues to work and Clint grumbles a little more, but Laura, remembering Natasha's words, lets him be and tries to ignore the sounds.

He busies himself making salad while Laura eventually rescues the mashed potatoes from Cooper’s attention and Natasha disappears into the basement, bringing out a bottle of wine from one of their more recent trips. She pours healthy sized portions for the three adults before pouring milk for Cooper and as they all sit down at the table, Laura picks up her glass and wonders when she became the person who invested in alcohol to dull her stress. She had never wanted to do that before, despite Clint's former occupation.

“Fury said I could stay here for awhile, while Cooper heals,” Clint begins as he takes some salad, shaking dressing over the lettuce. “Which means I’m off duty, if you want to stay, too.” He’s looking at Laura but Laura knows he’s talking to Natasha, who’s digging into her leftover chicken with a little too much force. “Could be a nice vacation,” Clint hedges when she doesn’t respond, and Natasha finally sighs.

“Clint, I --”

“Mommy!”

The conversation is interrupted by Cooper’s yell and when Laura turns, she finds her son is holding out a bloodied hand, a small object resting in his miniature palm. “Mommy!”

“ _Oh_ ,” Laura says, her heart leaping into her throat when she realizes what the blood around Cooper’s mouth means, and Clint immediately gets up from the table, reaching for napkins to wipe his face.

“Crap. I didn’t even know that one was loose...hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” he soothes when Laura takes the tooth from his hand, causing his eyes to water instantly. Clint kneels down in front of him, stroking his hair. “These things are supposed to happen, I promise. It’s just going to feel really strange for awhile, okay? Let’s get you cleaned up.” He reaches for another napkin, looking up at Laura.

“How the hell did his tooth get loose like that?”

“Might’ve knocked it in the fall,” Laura says grimly, feeling like she wants to kick herself for not noticing either, and Natasha follows Laura to the sink.

“I thought kids didn’t lose their first teeth until at least six,” Natasha remarks as Laura carefully places the tooth in a small mug filled with water.

“They can as early as four,” Laura answers. “At least, that’s what the doctor told me. Guess he’s an early bloomer. Or circumstances helped him out.” She sighs quietly. “And I guess I need to get my wallet later.”

“He’s four, leave a candy or something under his pillow and call it a day,” Natasha says offhandedly as Laura carefully washes the tooth and puts it on a paper towel. Laura laughs under her breath.

“My mother used to do that, actually,” she admits. “I eventually got money, once I got older, but she didn’t think five or six year olds needed dollar bills. So she would leave a chocolate bar under my pillow. I suppose it was kind of ironic, but I never complained.” She turns around; in the time it's taken for her to wash and clean the tooth, Clint has cleaned Cooper up and is trying to coax him into eating again, having somehow averted a meltdown that Laura figures would have naturally occurred. She says a silent prayer of thanks, her heart swelling at the realization of just how good Clint was when it came to his son.

“He’s so different when he’s here with him,” Natasha says quietly, as if reading Laura’s thoughts, and Laura runs her hands under hot water before drying them on her pants.

“What do you mean?”

Natasha looks a little uncomfortable, as if she’s being asked to explain something she can’t describe. “He’s just different. I fell in love with him because he was everything this whole SHIELD organization wasn’t -- real and open and sometimes, just completely, genuinely dumb. Not to mention cute.” She smiles slightly. “But here, he’s...different. He’s not the man I fell in love with. And seeing him like this, it kind of makes me love him more. If that makes sense.”

Laura lets herself ruminate on Natasha’s words, her heart continuing to swell. “It makes sense,” she says as they return to dinner, and then Cooper stays at the table drawing a picture while Clint helps Laura and Natasha clean up.

“One of the many perks of having you home,” Laura says as Clint wipes down the table and Natasha secures leftovers in tupperware containers.  “Having you _both_ home.”

“Live-in maids?” Natasha asks, kissing Clint as she walks past him, and Laura’s insides grind against each other. Her love for Clint, combined with her growing attraction to Natasha, has made it hard for her to _not_ feel something when they’re both in the same room together.

“A little more than that,” Laura says. “But I’m not going to lie and say that the help isn't appreciated.” She finishes loading the dishwasher while Clint helps Cooper up from the chair, gently steering him towards the stairs, tucking his half-finished drawing under one arm.

“Coming?” He turns around and Laura hesitates behind him.

“In a minute.” She waves her hand around. “I need to clean up a few more things down here.”

Clint shrugs and continues helping Cooper out of the kitchen as Natasha walks up behind her.

“You can go up there with him,” Laura says, once she realizes Natasha’s not following. “I just need to get some papers together before I get too lazy.”

Natasha nods. “I will,” she says, kissing her again. “But I think I’m going to let off some steam first, if you don’t mind.”

It takes Laura a moment to realize what she’s talking about and then another moment to compose herself enough to speak, to say the words out loud.

“Let me come.”

Natasha, who’s already halfway to the door, turns around in surprise.

“To the barn?”

Laura nods quickly and Natasha furrows her brow. “Look, Laura. I don’t know --”

“Nat, you know that I’m more than capable. I can prove it.”

Natasha steps forward, her eyes gentle. “I’m not saying that I don’t think you’re capable,” she says slowly. “I know what you told me. I believe you. But you don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

“Then this isn’t about proving myself to you,” Laura refutes, because she knows it’s not. It’s about opening doors to the lives that Clint and Natasha keep from her, for whatever reason. Laura knows that she might never understand what they do on a daily basis but she also knows if she wants to pursue these feelings, she needs to be able to understand some of the things that make Clint and Natasha the people she loves outside of who they are at the farm. Natasha stares at her for a long time without speaking, as if she’s sizing Laura up.

“I don’t exactly hold back when we spar.”

“So let me see you not hold back,” Laura responds, keeping her voice quiet in case Clint decides to come back downstairs. “Who are you going to spar with if you don’t have another person, anyway? A tractor?”

Natasha snorts. “You know you put a punching bag in there for a reason,” she reminds her. “You really want to do this?”

“Yes,” Laura says decisively and Natasha still looks a little hesitant, but nods.

“Okay,” she says finally. “If you’re sure. Let’s go, then.”

Laura leaves the papers she’s started to gather on the table and grabs a house key as she follows Natasha out the door, closing it softly behind her. Evening is starting to encroach on the farm, the quiet rumble of country background noise settling in Laura’s ears as she walks across the lawn, and at some point she finds herself involuntarily reaching for Natasha’s hand -- comforted when, despite Natasha's surprise, she doesn’t pull away.

Natasha breaks away so she can pull open the door to the barn, stepping inside and taking off her shoes as she approaches the large mat -- another thing Laura doesn’t bother to clean up or put away when Clint’s not around, since she’s rarely in the barn except to store things, anyway.

“How do you want to do this?” Laura asks, throwing her hair up. Natasha smiles cheekily.

“You tell me. You’re the samurai here.”

Laura laughs a little nervously, unsure whether her nerves are coming from the fact that she’s meeting her match for the first time when she’s only previously fought with her instructor, or whether they’re coming from the fact that with her hair up and tee shirt tied around the back, Natasha looks far too attractive for a sparring partner. She feels like she suddenly gets what might have contributed to Clint’s growing attraction, a thought that’s quickly followed up by the idea of Natasha and Clint doing more than just playfully fighting. Suddenly, her lungs feel like they’re on fire.

“Laura.” Natasha’s staring at her with that look, the one Laura’s becoming used to, the one that says everything she probably won’t say out loud. Laura shakes herself out of her thoughts and steps forward, holding out her hand.

Natasha takes it and Laura quickly uses her other hand to grab Natasha’s arm, twisting it back. Natasha stumbles in surprise, caught off guard as Laura’s hand snaps around Natasha’s waist, grabbing her and flipping her over onto her back. Natasha lands hard on the mat, her eyes widening, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she attempts to get her breath back.

“I’m impressed.”

Laura steps away, offering Natasha a hand again to help her up. The moment their palms meet, Natasha leaps to her feet, sweeping Laura’s legs out from underneath her so that she goes down as well and Natasha manages, with the considerable ease of someone who does more than just spar on a daily basis, to pin her against the mat with her body.

“My turn,” she says breathily, two hands pressed tightly against Laura’s sternum, her face hovering dangerously close. They’ve barely started their session and Laura can already smell the faint stench of sweat on Natasha’s body, mingling with the mustiness of the stale barn air. Natasha smiles against a split lip, a trickle of blood dripping down her chin, and then she leans over and kisses Laura. Laura gasps in surprise as Natasha’s mouth covers her own; her hands are still mostly pinned underneath Natasha’s strong hold but Natasha allows her fingers to move down the sides of Laura's face, her breath warm and heavy. She pulls back and then kisses Laura again more deeply, the taste of their saliva mingling with the faint, coppery, just-barely-there taste of blood.

“This isn’t what you had in mind,” Natasha whispers, trailing a finger down Laura’s cheek, a smirk settling in her lips. Laura swallows.

“Not exactly,” she whispers back, but it doesn’t stop Laura from kissing her again. Natasha rolls to the side, taking Laura with her, and rakes her fingers through dark, tangled hair.

“I think I like you,” Laura says quietly when they take another break, and Natasha’s laugh is gentle.

“You _think_?”

Laura gives her a shy smile. “I don’t think,” she corrects. “But I don’t know what to do about that. Do you really think we can all coexist like this?”

Natasha looks confused, rolling her head to one side. “Why would you think we couldn’t?”

Laura’s face flushes. “I don’t know,” she says, suddenly feeling thrilled and nervous all at once. Her heart is still beating too fast, and she knows it’s not from the exertion of throwing Natasha down. Laura sits up, balancing herself against the mat with two hands.

“You know, Clint told me how he feels about you,” Laura says in the silence that follows. “But he doesn’t know how you feel about me, or how I feel about you.”

“Oh, he might have an idea,” Natasha says teasingly, sitting up herself, and Laura looks surprised. “I mean, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know you’re thinking of me naked, or that we've kissed. For a lot of reasons, number one being that he’s kind of daft.”

“Incredibly daft,” Laura mutters, thinking of how it had taken him nearly a week to notice that Laura had trimmed her hair recently. Natasha smiles.

“I think he knows we’re close,” Natasha continues. “It’s a dance, Laura. It’s not an easy one. But the more comfortable we are with each other, the easier it’ll get. And besides, there’s no law saying we can’t all have feelings for each other.”

“Polyamory,” Laura says softly as Natasha starts kissing down the back of her neck, humming against her skin.

“Yes,” Natasha says in the middle of kissing. “If you want to speak technically. But let me make it a little more simple for you. You know the first thing I learned about sparring?”

“That you’re good at it?”

Natasha hums again. “The first thing I learned about sparring,” she says in between sucking at a bruise on the nape of Laura's neck, “is that it’s _kind_ of like making out.”

Laura feels her cheeks go numb, shivering intensely despite the barn’s humid air. “Do you want to test that theory?”

Moments later, Natasha has pulled Laura to the ground again, back somersaulting and leaping to her feet before delivering a right hook that Laura just barely manages to duck away from. When she straightens back up, expecting another jab to make up for the missed punch, Natasha pulls her in for another hard kiss.

 

***

 

More than half an hour later, Laura and Natasha make their way back to the house. Natasha’s smoothing down her rumpled hair, rubbing stray patches of dirt out of her clothes while Laura is massaging a bruise on her wrist from where Natasha has dug her fingers a little too deeply into her skin.

“Not as pretty as the scars you get from your trainer, huh?” Natasha asks as they climb the porch steps. Laura finds her stomach flip-flopping.

“Prettier, actually.” When Natasha looks at her a little curiously, she shrugs, trying to mask her discomfort. “These are personal.”

Natasha smiles in understanding, carefully tucking an unruly set of curls behind her ear as Laura leads her into the kitchen.

“Come upstairs,” Laura says, motioning to Natasha after they’ve both washed off their hands and faces. “I’ll give you some clothes to change into.” Natasha follows her into the bedroom and when Laura opens the door, she finds Clint sitting on top of the covers, a faded flannel covering his black shirt.

“Nat?” His brows crease in confusion and then his eyes widen when he sees what Laura knows is somewhat scraggly hair. “ _Laura_?” He puts down his cup of what Laura can tell by the smell is recently made coffee and narrows his gaze at Natasha. “What the hell were you doing with my wife?”

Natasha allows a ghost of a grin to appear on her face. “Nothing,” she says a little slyly, glancing to the side. “Well, nothing that she can’t participate in. We may have….bonded a little.”

Laura shifts nervously, staying silent, wondering if her hair will appropriately hide what she thinks might be a hickey on her neck. Clint stares at her and Laura knows his eagle eyes are taking in both her flushed face and the few shallow cuts on her arms.

“You _sparred_?”

“She was both thorough and careful,” Laura answers with a small grin as Natasha relaxes against the doorframe, smirking. Clint raises an eyebrow.

“Define thorough and careful,” he says, getting up, looking at both of them in turn before taking Laura’s face in his hands, cupping her chin gently as he inspects her injuries. Natasha shrugs and Clint opens his mouth again. Before he can talk, Laura reaches up and wraps her arms around his head, kissing him gently, letting her fingers curl into the back of his neck.

“I think I learned a lot, if you want to know,” she whispers in his ear, feeling him shudder involuntarily. “She’s a very good teacher.” Laura’s only vaguely aware of the fact that Natasha's still standing behind her, but realizes she doesn’t care. She suddenly feels more at home than she has in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend on having this long a break between chapters, but a bunch of things kept coming up that unintentionally pushed back my plan to post. (Basically, I wrote a chapter that I ended up deciding to save until later for story purposes, and then I wrote this one and real life got in the way and made me wait to post it). So to make up for all of that, you get a super long chapter full of feelings AND hopefully not a long wait until the next one since I've already been working on it. Thank you to [genuisorinsanity](http://geniusorinsanity) for putting up with me and word sprinting and all your texts of encouragement <3 And thank you all of you who continue to read and leave comments and kudos...it means the world.


	11. 2002

“We should try,” Laura says when they’re in the middle of Home Depot, looking for paint so they can redo the peeling bathroom wall of their apartment. Clint blinks quickly at her words, tearing his gaze away from the Benjamin Moore samples.

“Try what?”

“To have a baby,” Laura says nonchalantly, as if she’s suggesting they go somewhere for coffee, and Clint makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“I thought you said you wanted to wait.”

Laura hesitates. “I did,” she says slowly. “But I’ve been thinking more and more about it, and...well…” She shrugs, glancing up at him. “What’s the harm in trying, right?”

Clint nods, feeling unsure of how to respond. “Yeah,” he muses finally. “What’s the harm in trying?”

Laura gives him a tight smile and Clint follows her down the aisle of the store, unconsciously placing one hand on her back. He debates saying something else when they head to the register but as he watches Laura unload cans of paint and a few home improvement tools, smiling cheerily at the cashier when she asks how their day is going, he decides it’s not worth what will probably become a more serious discussion. He doesn’t bother to follow up on the conversation until they’re back at the apartment and have settled in for a late lunch.

“You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah.” Laura doesn’t look up as she digs into the turkey sandwich he’s made for her while she was unloading their purchases. “Why?”

Clint eyes her carefully, watching her eat, the way she’s overly focused on her food and the way she’s avoiding him with a little too much intensity. “Just seems out of the blue, that’s all. You suddenly saying that you want a child, after us agreeing we would wait for the right time because of our money situation.”

“Maybe I don’t care about our money situation. Maybe I feel like this is the right time,” Laura says cryptically, reaching for her soda. Clint sighs.

“Come on, Laura. Cut the bullshit. I want a child, you know that. Why did this have to come out of the blue in the middle of shopping rather than during a conversation at home?” He continues to watch her as he talks, taking notice of the way her lip twitches slightly, an indication that she’s trying not to give all her emotions away. His lunch remains on the table, forgotten.

“My dad might have to move again,” she says finally, and Clint feels himself grow confused.

“But I thought your dad was retired.”

“Yes.” Laura looks annoyed, like he’s missing something that should be obvious. “It’s not because they want him to serve on a base. It’s because they’ve offered him a job teaching in Missouri. And if he does decide to move, it would pretty much be a done deal, considering the Air Force would pay for it.”

Clint sits back in his chair, his eyes roaming over her face as he lets her words settle. “That’s why you want to have a kid,” he says, understanding dawning on him, and Laura looks at him with a glare.

“I want to have a child because I want to be a mother,” Laura says firmly. “But I want my parents there, too. Especially if you’re still working late like this all the time...and I have to be alone…” Laura trails off with the rest of her sentence and Clint tries not to let himself dwell on the guilty weight of her thoughts, because he can’t exactly refute them.

“Hopefully, I’ll get something a little more stable soon,” he says, trying to keep his voice optimistic. “I already got rid of the random extra jobs, and you know I don’t want to be a bartender forever. Thinking of maybe going back for some night classes in management, if that’ll help at all.”

Laura nods but Clint notices her eyes are blank and watery, her gaze lost somewhere between her sandwich and his face. He sighs as he gets up, kneeling down in front of her.

“Hey.” He puts his hand against her cheek, gently drawing her gaze to his. “You really wanna start trying?”

Laura swallows and then nods, and Clint pulls her into a hug, letting her face rest on his shoulder as she comes apart in his arms.

“Okay,” he says after another moment, kissing the top of her head, feeling her arms tighten around him. “Okay, Laur. Let’s do this. Let’s try to have a baby.”

 

***

 

Truth be told, Clint’s never quite researched the specifics of having kids -- he had been the youngest child with no relatives, and he had never been with anyone long enough to think _that_ seriously. Laura maps out careful dates and times that they can sleep together without using condoms or birth control and at first Clint’s ecstatic, excited and eager for things to happen despite his hesitancy over their financial issues and stability. After roughly four months of failed pregnancy tests, however, he starts to become as dejected as he knows Laura is beginning to feel. She holds it together well enough, and Clint knows she doesn’t let him see her cry, though he hears her sadness during the nights that she thinks he’s asleep, passed out after too long a work day. He never brings it up, however -- not even when she claims she’s fine, because somehow, he feels like that would only make the situation worse. He was doing half the job, but he also wasn’t the one who was going to be carrying their child. And Clint knows enough to be understanding about the bond between a mother and a baby.

A few nights after the latest failed test, Clint returns home early from the bar, expecting to find Laura on the couch with a book she’s been intent on finishing. He finds her stretched out on the queen sized bed instead, still fully clothed, looking miserable.

“Hey,” he says quietly, because he doesn’t have to wonder where her mind is. He pushes aside a few maternity and medical magazines that have been left open on the covers, electing not to ask about them and crawls over the covers, kicking off his shoes. “What’s wrong?”

Laura swallows, looking both sad and lost, and then glances up to meet his face. “Maybe I’m not supposed to have kids,” she says quietly, almost resignedly.

“What?” Clint shakes his head. “No way. You were practically meant to be a mother.” He strokes her hair, and she shudders beneath him in a quiet sob. Clint doesn’t hesitate to move at the reaction, lying down next to her, putting a hand over her heart.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He leans over and kisses her. “Perseverance, right? You miss every shot you don’t take. We’ll keep trying.”

Laura draws in a shaky breath. “I know,” she says quietly. “And I know we’re better off waiting. Even if my parents move. I just...I didn’t think it would be this hard,” she admits sadly, and Clint breathes through a pain in his chest as he watches her talk, the way her whole body tenses with the very real strain of holding herself together.

“Maybe we should stop for awhile,” he says slowly, being careful of the words he’s choosing to say out loud. “Take a few months off, get a few tests done, and then try again.”

“I’ve _had_ tests,” Laura snaps, flinching away from his hold. “And I’ve talked to my parents, too. There’s nothing wrong with my body, Clint.” He can practically hear her frustration bleeding through her words and reaches over, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Look. We _will_ have this baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “I promise. If I have to rob a bank and sell my soul to artificially inseminate you, I’ll do it. I don’t care.”

Laura manages to bark out a cynical laugh. “Oh, you will, will you?”

“You better believe it.” Clint kisses her again, slow and deep, and cards a hand through her hair. “We’re going to have a baby, Laura. I’m going to make sure of it. And you should know by now that I don’t make you promises I can’t keep.”

 

***

 

One night near end of spring, after Clint and Laura stop trying to furtively make Laura’s pregnancy happen, he’s closing up at the bar and taking care of a few latecomers when a tall individual sits down in front of him and clears his throat.

Clint’s first instinct is to ignore the sound, because as much as he _knows_ it’s something that comes with the job, he hates being treated like he’s there to serve people like slaves. Something does cause him to glance up, however, and when he sees the dark-skinned man sitting in front of him he almost double takes.

“Clint Barton.” The man extends his hand as Clint reacts and then stares, dumbfounded. “I’m Nick Fury.”

Nick Fury is tall and imposing on the same level Clint would equate Laura’s dad as being, and he’s dressed in everything that seems wrong about someone who would be walking into a bar at this hour: a complete black wardrobe save for a grey high-collared sweater underneath a long coat that flaps against high boots. An eyepatch covers one side of his face and there are fresh abrasions along his cheek, but Clint can barely let any of those things register in his brain because all he can think about is the fact that his name has been spoken, and he knows he’s never seen this guy before in his life.

“Hi,” Clint says with uncertainty, putting his glasses down. “Uh. Can I, uh, get you a drink?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Fury says diplomatically, and Clint furrows his brow.

“Okay. Um. Then how can I help you?”

Fury smiles, his grin stretching wide across his face. “Actually, Mr. Barton, I’m wondering if _I_ can help _you_.” When Clint continues to give him what he’s sure is a blank, confused stare, Fury shrugs. “That is, if you want.”

“If I want.” Clint laughs, rubbing a hand over the lower half of his mouth and obscuring the sound. “No offense, sir, but I don’t even _know_ you. Why the hell should I bother talking to you?”

“Because.” Fury raises an eyebrow, spreading his fingers across the tabletop. “We’ve been told about you, Mr. Barton.”

Clint freezes in the middle of reaching for another glass and then lets his hands hang by his side. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Fury looks amused. “On the contrary, Mr. Barton. We do. We know about your service to our country. We know about your brother. We know that you married a year or so ago, to a woman that seems to be very understanding of your current situation.”

Clint drops the glass he’s been holding and then curses loudly as it shatters, the small shards digging into his palm where he’s clutched too hard. He ignores the curious looks from a few patrons as he reaches for a towel.

“Who the hell _are_ you?”

“Just someone who wants to give you a chance,” Fury says with a lazy shrug, apparently indifferent to the distraction he’s caused. He reaches into his coat, unearthing a small business card which he places on the table. “It’s not much, but I hope you’ll consider thinking about it.”

Clint looks down briefly and then looks back up again, just in time to see Fury get up from the stool.

“Wait,” Clint says a little desperately, taking the card and clutching it in his non-injured hand, trying to stop his head from spinning. “Who are you? Why am I supposed to believe anything you say? How will I even know how to contact you if I want to talk to you again?” He studies the card, smearing blood across the back, realizing there’s only a long name and no other information.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” Fury says with a dismissive wave. “Just think about what I said, and consider it. We’ll get in contact with you if we need to find you again.”

Clint stares dumbly in response as Fury turns walks out of the bar, and folds the card tightly between his fingers.

 

***

 

A few months after Fury’s first visit, Laura waits until Clint’s left for work and then takes the pregnancy test, sitting alone in the small bathroom of the apartment. Half of her hadn’t been sure if she could handle another failure after so many rejections but the other half of her had been determined, desperate to try this one more time. And so she had dragged Clint off the couch and their sex had taken a little longer than usual due to the fact that they were both exhausted, but afterwards, Laura had found herself both relieved and emotional.

“Last time,” he had whispered as he leaned over to kiss her, still sweaty and out of breath. Laura had nodded, because she didn’t want to stop trying -- the thought made her physically ill, as if she was giving up on a dream because of her own doubt -- but she was willing to concede that maybe Clint had a point. They _had_ initially wanted to wait, anyway, and maybe this was the universe’s way of telling them that they shouldn’t try so hard. Maybe it was worth giving themselves at least a few months of a break from the emotional stress of the whole situation.

Which is why when Laura looks over at the pregnancy test after peeing on the stick and sees the perfect pink plus sign, she finds herself unexpectedly bursting into tears, grabbing for her phone. Sniffling through her emotions, she hovers her fingers over Clint’s cell number, before moving them away as fear and anxiety take over her previously sudden reaction of glee. She calls her mother instead.

“Laura?” Elizabeth answers the phone with a curious tone. “What’s wrong?”

Laura doesn’t bother to argue with her mother about assuming something’s wrong just because she’s calling randomly in the middle of the day, and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I just...can you come over? Or can I come over there?”

Her mother’s breathing quickens almost immediately. “Of course. Laura, of course...what’s wrong?”

“I…” Laura suddenly can’t get the words out, the rest of the sentence piling up in her throat as she chokes out a sob. “I can’t do this over the phone. Just come over? Please?”

“I’m on my way,” Elizabeth says firmly, hanging up while Laura drops the phone into her lap. She gets up, realizing her legs are shaking, and then takes the pregnancy test and carefully lays it on the counter while she splashes water on her face, drying her eyes and re-doing her make-up in an attempt to look like somewhat less of a mess. By the time Laura’s mother arrives, she’s lost all of her composure, and opens the door feeling like she wants to burst into tears again.

“I’m pregnant,” she says and then she’s falling into her mother’s arms, and Elizabeth is hugging her tightly.

“Laura….Laura…” She strokes her hair. “Laura, this is _wonderful_. Congratulations.”

Laura can’t find the words to answer so she draws away and then pulls the test out of the back pocket of her jeans, handing it over. “I thought it was a mistake. We hadn’t been having luck and all of a sudden…”

“No, that’s definitely a positive pregnancy test,” Elizabeth says, inspecting it closely. Her smile drops when Laura can’t make herself return the sentiment. “What’s wrong?”

Laura tries and fails to find words for her emotions, and her mother takes her by the arm and sits her down at the table, putting the test between them.

“Let me make some tea,” she says gently, rooting around in the kitchen for mugs and filling the kettle while Laura sits miserably at the table, trying to sort out her feelings. She finds herself grateful for the silence and then after a few moments, Elizabeth sits down across from her, taking her hand.

“Aren’t you happy?”

Laura nods, looking up in surprise. “Of course I am. I’m really happy. We...we’ve been trying so hard to have a baby and now…” She stops, swallowing. “I don’t know. I think I’m afraid to tell Clint.”

Laura’s mother tilts her head, looking confused. “Why are you afraid to tell Clint? Wouldn’t he be happy for you?”

Laura lets out a breath, trying to let her head clear as her mother gets up to check on the tea. “Of course he would,” she says quietly. “He wants this as much as I do.” She realizes she doesn’t know how to tell her mother about Clint’s strange job offer and thinks better of it, deciding it’s not worth the extra questioning right now. “We talked about it, and then we started trying, but we had resigned ourselves to believing it was never going to happen. And we wanted to wait until we were financially stable anyway, and...I don’t know if he’s ready,” she finishes. “I don’t know if _I’m_ ready.”

“Laura.” Elizabeth pours tea and then returns to the table, setting the cup in front of her daughter, before reaching up and smoothing down her hair. “You’ve been ready to be a mother since you were probably fifteen. Don’t you remember how you used to try and take care of _me_? You had Grandma Lila helping me fake sick when you were a child, just so you could be the one who was in charge.”

Laura manages a smile as the memories stream through her head. “I know. But this is different.” She touches her stomach carefully. “This child will be mine. Ours.”

“Clint was the one who asked you to have a baby in the first place,” Elizabeth reminds her, pulling a chair closer and Laura sighs, placing her head on her mother’s shoulder, feeling like she’s twelve years old all over again.

“And then I pushed him into trying so hard. Because of dad’s job offer. Because I was selfish, and I wanted you to both be here, and I was scared of waiting too long.” She looks away, and Laura’s mother sighs quietly.

“I’m pretty sure dad isn’t taking the job,” she says after a moment. “We didn’t tell you yet, because he hasn’t officially rejected the offer. But Laura...he doesn’t want to move now, either. He doesn’t want to move when you’re still so fresh into your marriage and not even financially stable.”

“He shouldn’t be choosing my life over his,” Laura says hotly, even though she’s inwardly relieved and happy about her mom’s words. Elizabeth raises an eyebrow.

“You know that dad has _always_ put you first, Laura. And he will continue to, until he can’t anymore.” She gives her daughter a look, and Laura exhales loudly.

“I know.”

Elizabeth hums quietly under her breath. “You seem to have that problem with a lot of men in your life, don’t you?”

Laura’s head snaps up again, but instead of a disappointed stare, she finds that her mother is smiling slightly. Laura smiles back, looking down at the table.

“I do,” she says quietly, thinking of Clint, feeling a curling warmth spread through her body at the knowledge that he would probably put his entire life aside in order to make sure she was happy, even if it was detrimental to him, even if she didn’t want him to.

“As for your husband,” her mother continues, and Laura’s not surprised she’d found a way to drag the argument back to where it had started, “if I remember correctly, he was the one who was insistent about continuing to try when you were upset about not being able to get pregnant. I don’t think a man like that would suddenly look at this success as a bad thing.”

Laura closes her eyes. “I know,” she repeats. Elizabeth nudges her shoulder.

“So what is it, really?” She reaches out and touches the pregnancy test lying on the table between them. “What’s this about, Laura-love?”

Laura finds herself smiling at the use of her childhood nickname, feeling herself relax. “What if something happens, and things are harder than we expect them to be? What if we can’t raise this child to the best of our ability?”

“The fact that you’re even asking me that tells me that you’re going to care about this child more than anything in the world,” Elizabeth responds in a practical tone. “And that you’re going to show it all the love in the world. But life is unexpected, Laura-love. That’s why it happens to us. Would you have seen yourself married to Clint right now, if you had looked at yourself when you started college?”

“No,” Laura says honestly, shaking her head. “But you know I can’t imagine myself with anyone else. I love him.”

“I know you do,” Elizabeth affirms. “Which is why you should tell him what you’re feeling. Maybe he’s feeling the same way.”

Laura smiles wistfully. “Clint’s not scared of anything,” she mutters and Elizabeth frowns.

“I’m quite sure that’s not true. He was a nervous wreck the day you got married.”

“He was trying to hide it,” Laura says with a small smile, unable to stop a laugh. Elizabeth reaches out and squeezes her hand again.

“Oh, Laura. This is a _wonderful_ thing. And it’s scary, I know it is...I may be old, but I remember going to your Grandma Lila and being worried about the same things that you’re worried about. I also remember every part of my pregnancy with you, and how beautiful it was. And how much closer it brought your father and I, just like I know it’ll bring you and Clint together.”

Laura breathes out slowly. “I hope so.”

“I _know_ so.” Elizabeth gets up and then leans over, kissing her head. “Now, let’s call dad, before we talk some more. As it is, he’s going to be _really_ annoyed I got told about this first. Which I may hold over his head for awhile, until you have another one.”

Laura laughs again, leaning into her mom and feels more uncontrollable tears slip down her cheeks, though this time, the emotions don’t feel quite as painful.

 

***

 

On the same muggy August evening that Laura realizes she’s pregnant, when Clint is in the middle of closing up, Nick Fury comes back to the bar.

Clint’s already in a bad mood -- Laura’s continued pregnancy failures have made him grumpy, and no less than three fights had broken out that night. He had been forced to intervene, a decision that had earned him a nice-looking bruise on his upper arm where one of the drunk man’s fists had slammed into his skin.

“Must be a full moon,” he says to no one in particular as he hauls a bag of trash out the back door, squaring his shoulders, preparing to fling it into the dumpster. He’s tired, he’s sore, and all he wants to do is go home and cuddle with Laura and then sleep until he can’t sleep anymore.

“There’s no full moon until next week,” a deep voice says from behind, and Clint startles so much that he drops the bag of trash.

“Jesus Christ!” Clint whirls around, spinning on his heel. “Is this how you recruit all the people for your super secret spy company?”

Fury grins, clearly satisfied with the reaction he’s elicited. “Actually, you should be flattered. I hardly ever make house calls, unless I think someone is special.”

Clint snorts quietly as he reaches over to pick up the trash again. “You’re implying I’m worth more than working at a bar and being a good husband,” he says as he deposits the bag into the bin, this time successfully. When he turns back around, Fury’s still staring at him.

“I am implying that,” Fury says conversationally. “Because I think you’re worth a lot more.” He holds out his hand and opens his fist, revealing three darts hidden inside his palm. Clint eyes them suspiciously.

“What’s this?”

“A test,” Fury says simply. “That is, if you want it to be.”

“And what the hell am I supposed to do with these?” Clint asks, inspecting them from a distance. “Go back inside and throw them at a board for fun?” For the most part, the objects seem to be regular run-of-the-mill darts, the same ones Clint’s used to using when Laura would visit the bar and play with him. Fury smiles again.

“No,” he says, gesturing towards his face. “I’d like you to throw them at me.”

Clint snorts out a laugh and then raises an eyebrow, drawing back. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Am I?”

Clint laughs again, staring at Fury until he’s pretty sure that, no, he’s not kidding, and shakes his head. “Look, I don’t know what kind of test this is, but I’m not throwing _darts_ at your face. That’s utterly ridiculous.”

“Is it? I’ve seen war, Mr. Barton. I doubt that you throwing darts at my face would be anything different.” He smirks. “Besides, I’ve lost an eye for less.”

Clint continues to stare at him, silence overtaking the exchange. “What the hell is this?” he asks again. When Fury doesn’t answer, frustration and anger take over and he reaches forward, finally snatching the darts away from Fury’s outstretched hand.

“This is the most unorthodox method of recruitment I’ve ever seen,” Clint mutters, twirling the darts deftly between his fingers. He sighs. “Any specific place you’d like to stand while I _throw_ them, Mr. Fury?”

“Just throw them straight here, and that should be fine,” Fury says mildly, standing in front of Clint with his arms crossed. Clint wonders if he should bother to warn the guy that his aim, even when he _tried_ not to be precise, was actually pretty decent. He realizes it probably doesn’t matter because death wish or not, Fury seemed pretty intent on having him take the shots.

“Oh, and Barton.”

Clint looks up, his concentration broken for the moment as Fury nods towards him.

“Don’t bother worrying about your aim. Just make sure you don’t hold back.”

 _Unbelievable_ , Clint thinks, raising a dart with a grimace. He wonders if Laura will kill him for this, but something about the whole situation makes him feel like he _needs_ to follow orders, even if those orders are ones that could land him in the dog house. He sighs and takes aim, closing his eyes before launching the three shots one after another, directly at Fury’s face.

He hears them move through the air as the wind swishes past them, and Clint waits for the inevitable screams of pain. When they don’t come, however, he opens his eyes in confusion and is surprised to find Fury with his arms thrown up, having deflected the darts, which are lying harmlessly in front of his feet.

“What…” Clint trails off as he stares at the ground and Fury grins as he leans over, picking one up.

“N.L.D. It stands for Non Lethal Darts -- Stark Tech, as we call it. Just a taste of what we have at SHIELD. We’re still trying to figure some of these gadgets out.”

Clint rubs a hand across his head. “So, wait. Those...what…”

“See for yourself,” Fury offers and Clint walks over, closing the distance between them as he bends down, picking up one of the darts and running his fingers over the tip. What had looked as sharp and authentic as a regular dart, he realizes upon touch, is a needlepoint that’s essentially made of hard rubber, likely to never leave a mark at all.

 _Stupid_ , he thinks to himself, suddenly realizing he hadn’t even bothered to be more diligent about asking questions before picking up what could have been a potential weapon. Then again, it _had_ been a long day.

“You made a decision based on instinct. You shot first, and trusted what I said without asking questions,” Fury says after a moment. Clint glances up.

“Hang on. That was part of the _test_?”

“That, and seeing if your aim really was as good as we had heard,” Fury says, waving a hand around. “If you can do that with darts, think of what you can do with weapons.”

“I’ve used weapons,” Clint says slowly. “You should know that.”

“I do,” Fury responds casually. “But I don’t want you to use weapons the way you used them in the military. What I’m looking at is the opportunity to develop talents for something greater. A special skillset, if you will.”

Clint feels frustrated again, throwing both of his hands in the air. “I need you to talk to me,” he says bluntly. “And not in riddles. I need to know what the hell you’re doing here and what the hell you want from me.”

To his surprise, Fury nods almost instantly. “We can talk,” he agrees. “But I’d prefer to be somewhere less visible, if you know what I mean.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He walks to the back door of the bar and flings it open, ushering Fury inside. “Closing time, anyway. After you.”

Fury gives him a look but complies, walking inside while Clint follows. He gestures towards a booth in the corner, eyeing the last of the customers sliding their bills across the bar table.

“Five minutes,” he says as he returns to take care of business, gathering change and running credit cards before pushing the last straggler out the door. He slides in across from Fury after wiping down a few more tables, practically slumping into the booth.

“Okay. Talk.”

Fury looks amused and puts his hands out, as if he’s laying all his metaphorical cards on the table. “There’s not much I can tell you, unfortunately. The nature of our organization --”

“SHIELD,” Clint interrupts, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that a real name, by the way? Or did someone work really hard to make that spelling pertinent? Because my wife was curious.”

Fury smiles faintly. “It’s real. We’re working on it.”

“Fabulous,” Clint mutters. “You were saying?”

Fury nods. “Yes. I was saying that I’m not at liberty to give you many details about what I’m offering you, other than the fact that working with us would put your skills to good use, and would give you a chance to do something more than what you’re doing now. You’d be trained to serve and protect the greater good.”

“So, the same spiel as the military,” Clint assesses, and Fury shakes his head.

“Not exactly, Mr. Barton. We’re a little more advanced than the military. In all aspects.” He nods towards the darts lying in the center of the table and Clint considers this, before lifting his gaze.

“Why me?”

Fury looks surprised. “I told you. We heard about your skills. And after tonight, I’m even more convinced about your potential.”

“So you’ve been spying on me,” Clint says flatly. “Because _that_ makes me want to trust you.” When Fury doesn’t respond, Clint finds himself sighing in response to his own words.

“What happens if, hypothetically, I trust you and take this job?” He asks a little suspiciously. Fury smiles again.

“Then I offer you a salary with more money than you probably expect. I fly you to New York and train you as part of an elite team, and in return, you would be taken care of.”

“Taken care of,” Clint repeats. “What the hell does that mean? Because I don’t like the idea that this seems like I’m leaving my wife and going off on another serving stint. I don’t _want_ to do that. We’re trying to get pregnant, you know.” The moment the words leave his mouth, he wonders if Fury does know, because he’s not quite sure what national security database he’d hacked to get any access about Clint’s personal life in the first place. Fury simply raises an eyebrow with a look Clint can tell means he actually _didn’t_ know about this particular situation.

“It means what it sounds like,” Fury says finally when he speaks again. “Financial stability, as well as assured safety from one of the highest security organizations in the world. You can be home and with your wife whenever you’re not working. We could even give you a sizeable house, right here in Iowa.”

Clint falls silent, chewing on Fury’s words, because as strange as everything sounds, it feels almost too good to be true -- not to mention a little creepy. He has half a mind to ask if there was some wiretap in his apartment that allowed Fury to know Laura had wanted a bigger place at some point in her life.

“I need to think about it,” he says, unsure whether or not to laugh at the fact that he _is_ actually thinking about it. Fury nods again.

“That’s understandable.” He slides another card across the table. Unlike the first SHIELD card, this one is smaller and has more writing on it. Clint studies it carefully.

“That’s a confidential and direct number to get in touch with me. It’s one-time use, though, which means it’ll be both deactivated and destroyed afterwards. Use it wisely. Or when you have a decision.” He winks at Clint and then slides out of the booth before Clint can say another word, crossing the bar to the exit and slamming the door behind him.

“Clint Barton. SHIELD.”

He says the words out loud to the open, empty space, and then puts his head in his hands.

It’s been a long day.

 

***

 

Three weeks after Laura gets pregnant and two weeks after Clint officially decides to accept his job at SHIELD, Clint crawls into bed on a rare day off and settles in next to his wife, pushing up against her shoulder.

“Hi,” Laura says with a small smile, turning her head so she can kiss him. She places a finger in her book, folding the pages over her hand. “What’s up?”

“Thinking of this little one,” Clint says, putting his hand on Laura’s stomach. “And names.”

“Names?” Laura laughs. “Clint, I’ve been pregnant for three weeks. I still need doctor’s appointments and check-ups...most people don’t even tell their friends and family for another month or so.”

“Yeah, but...I mean, it’s never too early, right?” He’s smiling like a kid on Christmas morning and Laura can’t help but smile back. While the past few weeks have been stressful, between Clint accepting his mysterious new job and Laura dealing with all the emotions that have come with accepting her finally successful pregnancy, her anchor through it all has been her husband -- who, as Elizabeth rightly predicted, had been ecstatic, excitable and more than supportive. Laura hadn’t realized how much she had _needed_ Clint to be that positive, optimistic, other half in this journey until she had told him the news, even if blurting it out in bed at two in the morning hadn’t been the way she wanted to break it.

“Alright,” Laura concedes with a nod. “Names. Any ideas, Einstein?”

Clint looks a little surprised at the way Laura’s thrown the question back to him, but nods. “Yeah, actually.” He takes a breath. “So, I was thinking…”

“Is this going to be a thesis?” Laura interrupts with a raised brow. “Or a discussion?”

“C’mon, lemme finish,” Clint says, grabbing for her hand. Laura sighs, letting the book slide off her fingers, and Clint takes that as permission to keep talking. “I’m just saying, this kid, boy or girl, is going to be special. And I’ve kind of always liked the idea that your kids’ name should reflect you, as much as possible.”

“I don’t follow,” Laura says with a slight frown. “But if you’re talking about naming the child after us, or after someone else currently in our lives, then, no, Clint.” She puts a hand on his arm. “I may only be half Jewish, but that’s a tradition I’m not willing to break.”

“I know,” Clint answers. “Trust me. I’ve done the research.”

“ _Have_ you?” Laura asks scathingly, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Kind of. Anyway. I was thinking that maybe we could name this kid whatever we wanted, but use our own names as a base. You know, like, a C name for me. Or an L name for you.”

Laura looks at him suspiciously. “That’s highly specific,” she says slowly. “Why do I get the impression that you’ve been thinking about this for a lot longer than I’ve been officially pregnant?”

Clint shrugs a little embarrassedly. “Maybe I have,” he admits, lying down next to her. “Is that so wrong?”

Laura thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “It’s not. I like the fact that you’re so into this.” She smiles, poking him with her foot. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” Clint makes a face. “I was kind of hoping to go for, you know, something like ‘best husband ever for being so compassionate and caring about our child.’”

“And you think I don’t already _know_ that?” Laura asks pointedly, snuggling down with him and wrapping her arms around Clint’s body, bringing him in for a kiss. Clint kisses back, and Laura feels a cozy fire spread through her insides.

“Alright, Mr. Compassionate. How do we decide which letter we’re using?”

“Put them in a hat,” Clint says automatically after another long kiss. “That’d probably the fairest, right?”

Laura opens her mouth and then closes it abruptly, before reconsidering her answer. “For the record, this is not how I ever imagined naming my child.”

“I know. But you’re also not refuting it, right?”

Laura winces. “I’m not. Because as strange as it is, the whole thing is actually a good idea.”

“Seems like we have a lot of strange in our lives lately,” Clint says and Laura doesn’t have to wonder if he’s thinking about Nick Fury and SHIELD.

“Apparently.” She props herself up on one elbow. “But we pick this name together. None of this superior stuff.”

“Fair enough,” Clint says, crossing his heart. Laura nods.

“And we pick two names -- a boy’s name and a girl’s name -- if we don’t find out the sex beforehand.”

“And whoever doesn’t get picked, if we have another kid, we’ll name it after _their_ letter. Deal?”

“This is insane,” Laura mutters, but she knows she can’t help the smile creeping over her lips. “Fine. Deal. Now leave me alone so I can finish this book in peace. I’m getting to the good part, and you’re annoying me.”

Clint grins and kisses her once more before rolling off the bed, shoving her playfully with his foot as he gets up.

 

***

 

In her mid-second trimester, on the day that Laura’s scheduled her ultrasound, she wakes up too early, after tossing and turning for most of the night.

A quick glance to her left and the sound of snoring beside her alerts her to the fact that Clint is still more than fast asleep and she turns over carefully in bed, trying to decide if the nerves eating away at her stomach are rooted in excitement or dread. She realizes she can’t quite tell, a thought that bothers her, and she debates the merits of getting up at a still-dark hour with the risk of being exhausted later in the day. As if sensing her discomfort, Clint’s arm shoots out and wraps itself around her middle, and Laura smiles at the touch accompanying the drooling face pressed halfway into the pillow. She carefully extracts his arm from her body, and although he shifts and seems to come awake, he doesn’t do much more than grunt and turn over in an undignified heap.

Laura climbs out of bed, fumbling quietly in the dark for a pair of sweatpants and a zip up hoodie, before tiptoeing out of the room and out the door of the apartment. Though less elegant than Laura would have preferred in terms of a living space, the apartment -- a rented part of an older woman’s two-building home -- was at least in a safe area, somewhere Laura could feel comfortable when she was out by herself late at night, or when Clint had to come home too early in the morning from the bar. She shoves her hands into her pockets, playing with her keys as she heads down the block, and does two full laps while trying to calm the nerves in her stomach. It’s not that much later when she finally walks back inside and Clint’s still asleep, so Laura makes herself hot chocolate and then curls up on the small couch, picking up one of her baby magazines. She’s unaware that she’s fallen asleep until chapped lips kiss the side of her cheek, and one hand settles on her side.

“Hey,” Clint says quietly, leaning over and stroking her hair. “Where’d you go?”

Laura squints, stretching her body awkwardly as Clint moves on the couch to give her space.

“Sorry.” She immediately feels guilty at the fact that she might have caused him to believe he had done something to upset her; it hadn’t actually been her intention to sleep out here when she had sat down. “It wasn’t you. Just woke up and couldn’t get back to bed.”

Clint eyes her, and then eyes the half-empty mug. “It’s okay,” he says, leaning over to kiss her again. “Maybe it’s just nerves and all. Big day today, right?”

Laura manages a smile, sitting up while Clint pats her leg gently before disappearing into the kitchen space to start coffee.

“Hey, what do you say we go for lunch after the ultrasound?” he asks a little too cheerfully and Laura shuts her eyes against the suggestion. “Like a celebration type thing. I know we never eat out anymore, but I think we can afford one treat.”

“Yeah,” Laura says after a moment. She gets to her feet carefully, lured by the smell of fresh drip coffee, feeling only a little guilty that she can’t drink any. “We can do that.” She strides into the kitchen as Clint grabs a box of cereal and milk, humming to himself as he pours two bowls before busying himself with refilling the kettle.

“Tea, right?”

Laura gives him a tight smile as he places breakfast in front of her. “Yes, please.”

“Sorry it’s not coffee,” Clint says apologetically as he turns the knob on the stove. “But hopefully the doctors say all that stuff our parents used to do when they were pregnant is an old wives tale. At least they’ll let you have one or two cups.”

Laura nods absently, picking up her spoon. She tries to force herself to eat, but Clint’s continued talking is an almost constant reminder of the day’s events, all of which makes her feel even more nauseous. She plays with the contents of her bowl instead, losing herself in her own thoughts until Clint sits down at the table, shoving a blue mug in her direction.

“Hey.” His eyes narrow in concern as he sits down. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” Laura reaches for her drink, and Clint gestures to her food.

“You’ve barely eaten.”

Laura shakes her head as she forces a sip of tea down her throat. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “Just not feeling hungry right now. I told you, I don’t think I slept well last night.”

Clint puts down his coffee. “Seriously?”

The words make her bristle, and Laura huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Seriously, what? I’m _fine_ , I’m just not hungry.”

“You’re not fine, and you’re more than just not hungry,” he snaps. “And whatever caused you to not sleep well also caused you to sleep on the couch, which you never do, even if you’re sick.”

Laura tries to ignore Clint’s eyes, which she can tell aren’t leaving her face. “Stop staring at me,” she says finally, pushing back her chair abruptly and walking back to the living room. It’s a lost cause, because she knows that he’s going to follow as soon as she leaves. Sure enough, no sooner has she curled back up on the couch than does Clint appear beside her, grabbing her shoulder a little too roughly.

“Come on, Laur. What’s wrong? I thought you were excited about today.”

Laura knows she can’t stop the look that comes over her face at his words, and Clint’s eyes suddenly widen and then soften in understanding.

“You’re nervous? About the ultrasound?”

Laura draws in a breath that hitches in her lungs and nods slowly as Clint takes her in his arms, pulling her against him tightly.

“Hey, come on,” he says quietly, stroking her hair. “It’s our baby. She -- or he -- is going to be fine.”

Laura swallows down tears that she can’t stop, now that Clint’s holding her. “I know it’s going to be fine,” she says when she feels like she can talk again. “But it’s real. This is real. It took us so long to get here. And what if -- what -- there are developmental issues, sometimes. Abnormalities, irregularities. Preemies. And --”

“Laura. We’re going to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl, and if anything else comes up, we’ll figure out how to deal with it,” Clint finishes firmly. “I promise. Besides, Dr. Klein is the best there is, right?”

As soon as she had became pregnant, her mother had put her in touch with the doctor who had delivered Laura so many years ago, who was still practicing and more than happy to aid in what she was sure would be “another beautiful Foster pregnancy.” The comfortableness of the whole situation had put Laura at ease, as well as the fact that she knew she didn’t have to worry about making tons of informational interview appointments with other OBYGNs.

Laura sighs heavily. “Dr. Klein isn’t doing my ultrasound, Clint.”

“So you’re going to blame this on some poor doctor who has to deal with the wrath of a worried Laura Nicole Barton?” He puts a hand on her stomach, rubbing the area gently as he bends his head.

“Hey, kid. You’re going to worry your mother for nothing.”

“I don’t think it can hear you,” Laura tries to scoff, and Clint frowns.

“Well, maybe it can.” He leans down again and puts his lips to her stomach, and although the gesture isn’t meant to be sexual, Laura feels a chill run down her spine.

“Little Barton’s going to have a good family _and_ a good mom,” says Clint softly, his breath brushing against the thin fabric of her shirt.

“And a good dad,” Laura says softly as Clint raises his head, smiling a little before getting up.

“Come back to bed.”

Laura glances back at the kitchen. “But you just made breakfast.”

“Breakfast can wait,” Clint says, holding out a hand. “And our appointment isn't until later this afternoon. Besides, _someone_ left me alone last night, and missed out on prime cuddling time that I think might be needed.”

Laura takes Clint’s hand and they walk back to the bedroom together, settling under the covers again. Laura presses himself to his body while Clint practically envelopes her in his tight grip, his head coming to rest on top of her own.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her hair. “Forever.”

“I know,” Laura whispers, closing her eyes, letting him give her the protection and comfort that she’d never ask for, but that he knows she craves.

 

***

 

The drive to the hospital is fairly uneventful, Laura having calmed herself enough to eat, which makes her feel somewhat normal again. Clint plays James Taylor the whole way there and makes stupid jokes, and Laura laughs and almost forgets her trepidation over the whole thing, at least, until they’re parked and walking into the waiting room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barton?”

A smiling blonde with a clipboard ushers Laura and Clint into a back room a few moments after they’ve arrived and finished filling out paperwork. Laura can almost feel her hand slipping out of Clint’s palm thanks to how sweaty it’s becoming but Clint doesn’t let go, not even when she gets onto the chair.

“Make yourself comfortable and Dr. Greer will be in shortly,” the woman says with a bright smile, before closing the door again. Laura breathes out slowly, letting her head fall back against the chair, and Clint squeezes her hand more tightly.

“We’re almost there, right? Last leg of the journey. I mean, you don’t even have to do much at this point except sit there and act comfortable.”

Laura nods, not trusting her voice, and Clint gets up so that he can sit next to her.

“Hey.” He grabs her face gently, his fingers locking around her chin. “Look at me. This is our baby. And I love you. Everything is going to be fine. You trust me, right?”

Laura nods again, concentrating on Clint’s face, the gentle smile that refuses to fall away, the expression that houses all the love and optimism and determination she’s seen him display since they first confirmed her pregnancy.

“You know,” he continues after a pause, “we didn’t talk about names, still.”

Laura feels the lines on her forehead multiply. “I thought we were going to wait until we knew the gender before we picked a letter,” she says and Clint shrugs.

“Yeah, well...I thought maybe if we were bored --”

“Clint and Laura Barton?”

The door to the room opens slowly, revealing a woman with close cropped hair in a long white coat who enters and offers them both a hand and a warm smile. “I’m Dr. Greer, and I’ll be administering your ultrasound today.”

“Hi,” Laura says quietly, trying to smile while Clint leans over, shaking her hand vigorously.

“It looks like this is your first visit with us,” Dr. Greer says as she sits down, glancing at Laura’s charts. “You’re excited to see your baby, right?”

“Hell yes,” Clint says a little too loudly and Laura can’t help but laugh at his response. Dr. Greer looks amused.

“Not all husbands are as enthusiastic as you,” she says, motioning for Laura to lift her shirt up. “But I sure wish they were. It beats the ones who come in here and are uncomfortable about seeing something in their wife’s body, when they’re the ones that helped put it there to begin with.” She grabs for a bottle as Laura raises her shirt above her bra. “Careful, now, it’s going to be a little cold.”

Laura flinches slightly as the icy gel hits her skin, and then Dr. Greer pulls up a chair, grabbing the wand from her cart and pressing it to Laura’s stomach.

“Let’s see what we have,” she murmurs, moving the instrument gently, and Laura’s instantly comforted by Dr. Greer’s calm smile, the yellow butterfly pin on her coat and Clint’s hand securely holding her own. “There’s the head...and you can see the body right there. And that’s the heartbeat.” She points to the small bean-like image on the black and white screen. “See?”

Laura cranes her neck upwards towards the monitor and nods, suddenly at a loss for words for an entirely different reason. Clint’s fallen silent beside her, leaning over the bed.

“Let’s see if we can find the sex,” Dr. Greer continues when neither Clint or Laura respond, and she moves the wand a few more times. Laura finds herself alternating between shock and awe, overwhelmed with emotions at seeing her first real visual of the child growing inside of her. She had felt the baby, she had talked to it, even. But _seeing_ that there was another real person she had created was something she knows she never could have prepared herself for, no matter how much her mother talked and how many baby books she read.

“Looks like you have yourself a boy,” Dr. Greer says suddenly, pointing to the screen. Laura squints as Clint’s breath quickens.

“A boy?”

“An ultrasound doesn’t lie, Mr. Barton.” Dr. Greer is smiling widely. “That’s definitely a little boy your wife has. Congratulations.”

“A boy,” Laura repeats quietly, finally tearing her gaze away from the monitor to find Clint’s eyes, which are shining. A boy. _Their_ boy. Laura realizes she hasn’t been thinking much about the sex of their child, not in the way that she suspects Clint has, though they had never talked about it much.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Dr. Greer says as she returns the wand to the machine and shuts off the monitor, gently wiping the remaining gel off Laura’s stomach with a tissue. “Congratulations, again.”

Laura looks up as Dr. Greer starts to walk across the room. “Thank you,” she says as Dr. Greer smiles, before pulling the door closed behind her. As soon as she’s left, Laura lets the tears she’s been holding back fall freely, and Clint pulls her up into a hug. She realizes too late that he’s crying, too.

“Apparently there are only a few things that make Laura Barton openly cry,” Clint says as he strokes her hair, and Laura feels like it’s her wedding all over again, a moment where the world exists somewhere outside of them but doesn’t at the same time. “Babies, weddings and proposals.”

Laura laughs into his shoulder, her heart beating faster as the words penetrate her brain all over again. _Our little boy._

“You better not make him wear terrible clothing,” Laura says when they break apart. Clint’s eyes are slightly red, but his grin is overpowering, almost threatening to break his face apart.

“Hear that, kid?” He pokes at Laura’s stomach. “No terrible clothes. Your mom will kill me, and I’d hate to die before you’re born. Or even _when_ you’re born.”

Laura laughs again and Clint kisses her, wiping away water from her cheeks.

“We’re a family,” Laura says and Clint nods slowly, looking at the now dark monitor.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, kissing her again. “Yeah, we are.”

 

***

 

The drive home is a complete 180 from their drive to the hospital; Laura calls her parents while Clint turns the radio to classic rock, singing along loudly while Laura rolls down the window. Because Clint is the equivalent of a kid in a candy store and Laura is feeling more like herself, they stop for lunch after all and Laura even permits Clint the chance to do some shopping in Babies R Us next door.

“You cannot buy out the whole store,” Laura cautions as they walk in, watching Clint’s face light up as they pass strollers and carseats, taking the escalator to the infant clothing section.

“Not even one thing?”

Laura hesitates. “Fine,” she relents. “ _One_ thing. Don’t forget we have months to buy things, and I’m sure my parents will give us too much stuff, anyway.”

Laura figures Clint has to be in a good mood because he’s not even making a comment about her parents, and follows him aimlessly through the store, hiding a small smile as he stops at almost every rack. _Fatherhood changes people_ , Elizabeth had said, and though Laura didn’t think Clint _needed_ changing -- he hadn’t ever been the type of man whose responsibilities had been so skewed she was worried he wouldn’t be a good father -- he’s embraced the new title with more intensity and dedication than Laura would have expected.

A startled cry tears her out of her thoughts, and Laura looks up in surprise to see a blonde-haired child of roughly two years old. Tears are streaming down his clearly upset face, and when she lets her gaze travel to where the child is pointing, she understands why: a small stuffed tiger is bouncing down the escalator, the child presumably having dropped it by accident.

Laura moves without thinking, hurrying down the escalator to the ground floor before turning back around to ride up again, rescuing the toy off the steps before it can bounce further away, or get crushed by the contraption.

“Here you go,” Laura says gently, bending down after getting off the escalator and holding out the toy. The child stops crying immediately and hugs it as if the world is ending, sniffling cries turning into soft hiccups.

“ _Thank_ you,” says the woman holding the stroller, who looks somewhere between annoyed and terrified. “Thank you so much. That’s his favorite toy. My husband gave it to him, before he passed away. If he had lost it…”

“It’s no problem,” Laura interrupts, watching the child cuddle his beloved possession, feeling suddenly comforted. “I understand.”

“Children,” the woman says with an eye roll, but she’s smiling. “How old is yours?”

“Oh.” Laura swallows, realizing it’s the first time she’s been asked the question. She knows she's showing, but aside from family and friends, she's never found strangers paying much attention to her and asking specifically. Laura finds herself blushing at the assumption she already has a child. “Actually, I’m due with my first in April.”

“Ah, well. Congratulations, then.” The woman gestures to the stroller. “I’ll look for you calming your own child down in a few months, then.”

Laura laughs, bending down again to pat the head of the boy who is now staring up at her curiously. The woman clears her throat as Laura stands up.

“What do you say, Cooper?”

“Ank you,” the child responds in a small voice, clutching his toy more tightly. Laura smiles again.

“Thank _you_ ,” the woman adds, pushing the stroller away. “And congratulations, again.” Laura watches them walk off while Clint sidles up beside her, his arms full of baby clothes.

“What was that about?”

Laura blinks herself out of her thoughts. “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “Just trying out this new mom thing.” She gives him a look when she notices the items that are overflowing in his arms. “ _Clint_.”

“Come on, Laur. These are adorable.”

They are adorable, Laura has to admit -- Clint’s picked out an array of options for their unborn son, including quite a few footie pajamas and some mini football jerseys. Laura sighs to herself as she sifts through the pile, picking out three outfits, including one with a small snail on it.

“You’re buying,” she chides as she pushes him towards the register. She follows him to the checkout line, watching as the woman she’s helped rescue the stuffed animal for wheels her child away.

 _Cooper._ She sticks the name in the back of her mind, trying it out a few times in her head, and smiles.

 

***

 

Laura makes them stop at her parents’ house to show off the sonogram and break the news, and after Clint has a drink with Bob and Elizabeth makes them more than a few unrefusable cookie offers, Clint and Laura finally make their way back home. They pick up a pizza from their favorite restaurant down the road, and the first thing Clint does after they get inside the apartment is prop the photo up against the lamp on the bedside table, causing Laura to raise both eyebrows in amusement.

“Most people put a picture of their wife next to the bed so that they can fall asleep,” she says as she takes off her shirt, changing into one of Clint’s because she’s too lazy to find real pajamas. “Or their dog, even.”

“So, what? Are you saying I can’t stare at my son while he’s in the womb?” Clint asks, sounding hurt, and Laura snorts out a laugh.

“It’s very cute,” she admits, leaning forward and kissing him gently. Clint smiles against her lips.

“Not going to get up and leave me for an impromptu walk tonight, are you?”

Laura shakes her head. “Not a chance,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around his body, snuggling into him. Clint gently strokes the top of her head, and Laura sighs.

“Thank you,” she says after a long pause. “For being there today.”

Clint tightens his grip on her arm. “I’m always going to be there for you,” he says, sounding surprised. Laura moves her head up and down against his skin and thinks of Clint’s job, the one they both haven’t really let themselves accept yet, because it’s still too new. Clint kisses her again, his thumbs brushing against her ear. “In case it wasn’t clear, I needed you, too.”

Laura lets him hold her until she feels stable enough to move again, and they take their pizza into the living room, eating on the couch while lying against each other. When Clint starts falling asleep a few hours later, nearly dropping a half-eaten slice he’s been picking at on the floor, Laura shoves him off the couch and forces him into the bedroom, eventually joining him after she cleans up the kitchen enough so that she won’t hate herself for being lazy in the morning. When she sees that Clint, for as tired as he seems to be, is still pretty much awake, she makes her decision without letting herself think about it.

“I was wondering if we could talk about names,” Laura says tentatively as she enters the bedroom, and Clint looks up in confusion.

“Yeah. What about names?”

Laura takes a deep breath and as if sensing her apprehension, Clint sits up straighter. “Hey, come on. Come here.” He reaches for her hand and drags her onto the bed, moving so that they can lie down more comfortably. “What about names?”

Laura runs her tongue over her teeth. “What do you think about Cooper?”

Clint pulls back, finding her eyes. “Cooper? For a name?” His lip twitches into a frown. “Can I ask why?”

Laura nods, tracing a finger against his skin. “The kid today. From the store. His name was Cooper.” She doesn’t say anything else, instead waiting to see if he’ll get it. “I know it sounds crazy. And I’m not trying to name our son after a random person,” she continues, trying to ignore his look and hating that she can’t read him as well as she normally can. “And I know I’m probably never going to see that kid again. But when I handed him that toy...when I looked at his face…Clint, that was the first time I felt like I was a mom. It was the first time I felt like a _real_ mom. I _felt_ something.”

Clint breathes slowly next to her, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. Laura feels a weight bear down on her chest, and a pressure that makes it impossible to breathe.

“Clint --”

“You want to name our kid after a name you found while we were out randomly? Because of a feeling?”

Laura cringes a little, realizing how it sounds in that context. “Clint, I know --”

“And you know that I’m taking a job in another state, right? With a secret freaking company? A potentially dangerous job that you’re letting me accept from a random person who you’ve never even met? Because of a feeling?”

Laura breathes out in a long rush of air. “Yes,” she says quietly.

“Okay.” Clint nudges her with his foot, which is too cold, and Laura shudders internally. “So given how unorthodox all of _that_ is, I think I can get on board with this random decision. As long as it’s what _you_ want, too.”

Laura falls into silence and after a long stretch of quiet, Clint gets up and walks over to the closet, emerging with a small wrapped package. Laura gives him a quizzical stare as he hands it over.

“Open it.”

“Clint.” Laura turns the gift over in her palms, recognizing the blue and white baby-themed wrapping. “I said we could buy _one_ thing.”

“You also said I was buying, so I got to make a different decision,” Clint reminds her and Laura punches him lightly in the arm.

“Come on,” he prods, as she trails her fingers over the paper. “Open it. I promise it’s not something you’ll hate. I made a promise at the ultrasound, remember? No terrible clothing.”

Laura laughs slightly as she runs her fingers under the wrapping, tearing away at the paper until she can see its contents clearly. She lets out a small gasp.

“Clint.”

He’s grinning again, that too-big, too-proud smile, and Laura lifts up the small piece of clothing so that she can see it better. It’s a black onesie with white stripes along the arms and neckline, and set in the middle of the shirt is a familiar yellow logo, around the arc of the words IOWA HAWKEYES.

“Iowa Hawkeyes,” Clint says with a smile, smoothing down her hair. “Someone was wearing that sweatshirt the night they came into my bar. I figured it had enough sentimentality that our son should get to be a part of that meaning.”

Laura’s breath catches in her throat at the memory. “Is that the only reason you talked to me that night?” She tries to keep her voice light and Clint grins more, shaking his head.

“Nope. I mean, there _was_ the fact you schooled me in drink making when you weren’t even a bartender. And then I found out that you were pretty good at darts. And you were kind of cute, so I figured it was okay for me to start hitting on you, even if you weren’t a real sports fan…”

Laura hits him a little harder with the outfit, but she’s laughing, and Clint pulls her awkwardly down on the bed so that he’s cuddling her.

“Cooper’s a nice name,” he says after another pause, rubbing her stomach. “I mean, it does start with one of the letters of our first name, and that’s what we agreed on. How can I turn down a name that seems like fate?”

Laura laughs again, sniffling a little as her emotions get the best of her. “If he’s going to be your namesake, does that mean he’s going to trip over everything in the middle of the night?”

“ _Or_ he’ll make really good coffee right out of the womb,” Clint suggests. He leans over and picks up the ultrasound photo, holding it out in front of them. Laura reaches up and touches the small image, her fingers ghosting against the gloss.

_My little boy. My perfect little boy._

As if on cue, there’s an acute pressure in Laura’s stomach and she gasps, half in surprise and half in discomfort. Clint shoots up like a bullet beside her.

“What? Laura -- what? Is it the baby? Is something wrong? What --”

“Clint,” she says breathlessly, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her stomach. She waits, holding her breath, hoping that it’ll happen again, and then --

Her baby kicks once more, right against Clint’s wide palm, and Clint all but collapses from his rigid posture back onto the bed.

“That’s our boy?”

“Yeah.” Laura can’t stop smiling as another kick comes, this one stronger. “That’s our boy.”

Clint kisses Laura, snuggling into her, putting his hand back on top of hers. “Hi, Cooper Barton,” he whispers, and Laura smiles.

“Hi, Cooper Barton.” She thinks of her mom, and of Clint, and of her growing new family. “We can’t wait to welcome you to world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for the fact that this [Iowa Hawkeyes onesie actually exists](http://scene7.targetimg1.com/is/image/Target/17433098?wid=480&hei=480). 
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who continues to read, my cheerleading squad who continually puts up with me whining about everything from when to post and how long to make a chapter, and Shelly, who continues to be my right hand when it comes to this OT3. <3


	12. 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for talk of a miscarriage and mentions of the effect of its aftermath.

Clint’s halfway back from running errands when his cell phone beeps shrilly from inside his jacket pocket. He reaches for it with one hand, tempted to shrug it off when he sees it’s a call from the farm, but then he realizes that Laura hardly ever bothers him when he’s out, and something compels him to pick it up.

“Clint. You need to come home.”

The urgency in Natasha’s voice makes Clint stomp on the gas pedal even before he finishes processing her words.

“Nat? What happened? Which kid -- Cooper -- Lila?”

“Laura,” Natasha says stiffly, and Clint thinks he can detect the sounds of sirens in the background. He curses out loud and throws the phone to the floor, gunning the minivan past 90, suddenly wishing he had taken up Fury’s offer of a shiny new car, no matter how out of place it might have looked at the farm.

In reality, he knows he’s only about ten minutes from home. But the drive feels like it stretches forever, the clock attached to the dashboard flipping digital numbers too quickly every time he glances over. Clint practically skids the car onto the dirt once he reaches the farm, getting out and running the rest of the way at full speed.

“Clint.” Natasha’s standing on the porch, holding Lila in her arms. He stops short when he sees her, realizing how ragged he must look, judging by the sweat he can feel breaking out on his back and the way his lungs are heaving. “Clint, take a breath.”

Natasha’s voice is too calm and too flat, and as Clint gets closer, he notices there are tears streaked across his daughter’s face. Lila reaches wordlessly for her father and Clint cradles her to his chest while Lila puts her head on his shoulder. He realizes too late that Lila’s still crying, her breaths coming in short sobs that are distinctive of a toddler.

 _What happened?_ Clint asks silently as he finds Natasha’s eyes. His answer comes from his daughter, who’s still pressed against him.

“Mommy was hurt.”

Clint stares at Natasha in shock as she reaches out and places a hand on his arm, a touch he recognizes as _calm down_.

“Miscarriage,” Natasha says in a low voice, so quiet Clint has to strain to hear it over the wind picking up across the lawn. “They took her to the hospital about five minutes ago.”

The breath that he’s just gotten back is pushed from his lungs again, and his vision blurs as his chest seizes in panic. “Mis -- Jesus Christ, _what_?”

Natasha doesn’t respond, but the look she gives him is enough to speak volumes. Clint suddenly can’t get the image out of his mind: Laura, alone in the house, scared and hurt and in pain. Laura, in an ambulance, being poked at and fussed over with no one at her side. The guilt washes over him before he can stop it and he feels angry and then upset, and then even angrier at the fact that he was nowhere near his wife. His wife, the person he had given vows to protect, the person he was supposed to look out for, who had been there for him without a second thought during his worst moments.

And during her worst moments he was running errands, barely thinking, practically skipping through Home Depot while downing Starbucks coffee.

“Why the _fuck_ didn’t you go with her?” Clint bursts out, unable to help himself, even as Lila flinches in his arms. Natasha narrows her eyes, and that only infuriates Clint more.

“You should’ve gone with her! You shouldn’t have left her alone...what the _fuck_ were you thinking, Nat!?”

Lila starts crying again as Clint’s yelling intensifies and Natasha reaches over, gathering the small child in her arms. Her voice becomes soft as she re-establishes her focus from Clint to his daughter.

“Hey, Lila baby...hey, love. It’s okay. Daddy’s just scared, alright?”

Lila wipes her cheeks with small fists and Natasha kisses her gently.

“Tell you what. I’m going to bring you inside and we’re going to make cookies. Do you want to make cookies together? Animal ones? Like your favorite wolf?”

Lila nods and Natasha looks up at Clint, her face morphing into a mask of anger.

“I’m not a mother and even I have enough sense not to lose it,” she hisses sharply. Her voice is cold, and it’s a tone he recognizes all too well from when he’s been in deeper trouble than he wants to admit. “For your information, if I had a spare car I would’ve followed in a second. But that wasn’t an option.”

Clint swallows, his heart pounding as Natasha smoothes her hand over Lila’s long hair.

“Daddy’s going to go visit mommy and make her all better,” Natasha says soothingly, drawing Lila’s face towards her. “And you and I are going to hang out here with your brother. Okay?”

Lila buries herself in Natasha’s neck as she glances up.

“Go,” Natasha says in the same cold voice, before turning around. Clint watches her walk towards the house and then backs down the porch, beelining to the car he’s hastily parked. He gets about five minutes down the road before he realizes he has to pull over and yanks the door open, stumbling out of the car to deposit his morning coffee onto the grass.

 _It’s an exorcism_ , he thinks to himself as his chest heaves helplessly in the wake of his vomiting, and at least unlike the days of Loki, this is actually helpful. He immediately feels lighter, his nausea clearing, though his lungs still feel tight with apprehension and worry. He gets back up on shaky legs and fumbles around for a napkin in the glove compartment, cleaning himself up before composing himself enough so that he feels comfortable continuing to drive.

It takes longer than he’s comfortable with to get to the hospital, thanks to the farm being set so out far that they’d needed to be removed from most populated areas, and when he gets there he’s forced to sit for several minutes in the waiting area of the emergency room. Clint almost has to stop himself from whipping out his work ID when he gets to the desk, reminding his brain that he’s in a civilian hospital and nowhere near SHIELD.

“Mr. Barton.” A tall woman with long hair the same color as the farmhouse's tarnished wood floor stops in front of him and extends a hand. “I’m Dr. Moorhouse. Please sit down.”

Clint swallows down the fear that threatens to overwhelm him as he sinks back into the chair he’s vacated, while Dr. Moorhouse takes an empty seat next to him.

“How’s Laura?” Clint asks when he finds his voice.

“She’s resting. We put her on some drugs for the pain. Once she wakes up, we’ll do a quick ultrasound to make sure everything looks okay, and then she can go home.” She pauses and regards Clint carefully. “I assume you’ve been told what happened?”

“Yeah,” Clint says quietly, letting out a breath, not wanting to say the words that will make it real all over again. “Miscarriage, right?”

Dr. Moorhouse nods slowly. “There are different types that can occur, and they vary in severity. Your wife’s heavy bleeding and the cramping she experienced suggests that she suffered an inevitable miscarriage.”

“Inevitable miscarriage,” Clint repeats, not liking the way the term sounds. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Moorhouse looks slightly surprised by Clint’s abrupt response. “It means that there was probably a rupture of the membranes and dilation of the cervix. The good news is, because Laura was so early on in her pregnancy, it looks like the body expelled all the fetal tissue on its own, which means she doesn’t need to undergo any follow-up procedures.”

Clint swallows down the bile rising in his throat, because that sounds like anything _but_ good news. “Right.”

“To be honest, with most miscarriages that occur on the early side, no hospital stay is required -- women usually experience the incident at home,” Dr. Moorhouse continues. “But the emergency call that came in said she lost consciousness, and it’s always better to be safe than sorry.” She gives him a sympathetic look, and puts a hand on his arm.

“Why?”

The words sound and feel like sandpaper as they leave his throat, and Dr. Moorhouse shakes her head.

“There is no, ‘why’, Mr. Barton. These things happen to everyone. I’ve seen miscarriages occur in some of my youngest and oldest patients, and everyone in between. There’s unfortunately no way to predict it, or prevent it. And there are many reasons for a miscarriage to occur...infections, maternal age, trauma. Sometimes, in the case of your wife, there’s no _visible_ cause that we can find.” She stops, allowing her words to sink in. “She’ll be fine, physically, but it’s possible she may end up suffering from an onset of depression. In any case, I’d recommend watching her closely, especially if she exhibits signs of additional bleeding. We can give you some recommendations for grief counselors, if that’s something you think you might need.”

Clint nods, trying to take in the words, which are all spinning a little too fast through his head. “Okay,” he says, feeling a little impatient. “Fine. I’ll let you know. Can I...can I see her, please?”

Dr. Moorhouse looks surprised. “Of course. I’ll be happy to take you back to her room.”

“Thanks,” Clint mutters, following Dr. Moorhouse through the swinging emergency room doors. He stops in front of the room he’s been directed to, lingering outside with his hand on the knob until Dr. Moorhouse walks away, and then hurries a little further down the hall. He stops when he reaches an empty room and then hesitates before ducking inside, pulling out his phone as his heart hammers against his chest. He knows he should call Laura’s parents, if they haven’t been called already per hospital procedures, but that’s not the first number he dials.

“Hi,” Natasha says curtly when she answers, and she doesn’t bother to offer up anything else. Clint lets out a breath, sagging against the cold wall.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, shoving the phone between his shoulder and his neck. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t mean to get angry, I just...I was scared.”

There’s more silence, and Clint can vaguely make out the sounds of television in the background. “We’ll talk about this later,” she says, her voice smoothing out. “In person. When you’re not breaking all the waiting room rules.” Her tone turns cheerier, and he can’t tell if she’s doing that for her sake, for his, or because of the fact that the kids are within earshot. “How’s Laura?”

“I…” Clint stops. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

“Oh.” There’s commotion in the background, a muffled shout followed by a soothing string of sentences, and then Natasha comes back on the line. “Clint. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, an instant reaction of trying to deflect from all his vulnerability, before he realizes it’s a complete lie. “No. Fuck, Nat, I don’t know. Laura lost the kid and I don’t know how the hell we’re going to figure this out, and I don’t know what to do.” He feels his eyes start to burn and wonders how he’s going to make the call to Laura’s parents. It’s not his fault, he knows, but damned if it wasn’t going to feel like it.

Natasha’s quiet on the other end of the line for longer than Clint thinks she needs to be. “You’re going to have to take it slow,” she says after a moment. “Be patient. Like you did with me when you first brought me in. Do you remember how I acted when we first met?”

“Yes,” Clint says, thinking of the Natasha he can almost forget at this point when he tries hard enough, the Natasha who had been volatile and trigger-filled, who had attempted to attack him and who had put up multiple walls to hide her feelings.

“She’s going to be scared and lonely, and you’re going to have to figure out the best way to make her comfortable. You can’t lose your temper when you don’t understand things.”

Clint bites down on his lip, tears springing to his eyes that he can’t help. “I know.”

“You can’t force her to talk about things she doesn’t want to talk about,” she continues. “Her body’s going to feel like it’s been violated. She’s going to be different, and she won’t be able to explain it. You need to be understanding of that, and help her through it without being confrontational.”

Clint nods to himself, letting Natasha’s words calm him. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For being there. I know I got angry. I didn’t mean it, but god, if you hadn’t been there...if it had just been the kids…” His heart starts to race again at the thought, panic coursing through him.

“It wasn’t,” Natasha interrupts. “And I didn’t exactly like having to send Laura off like that. You know I didn’t want to. I also wasn’t thrilled about having to possibly compromise your location by calling 9-1-1, but that was my choice. I’m part of this family, too.”

“I know,” Clint murmurs. He’d deal with the potential fall-out of Natasha’s call later, because right now, he’s not too worried about anything that’s not his wife. “I just...she’s all alone, and…”

“And I know that you know what it’s like to be scared and alone,” Natasha says gently. “When you were sent off in an ambulance after your father hit you. Before you were taken away from your home.”

Clint presses his lips together, blinking fast as the walls swim in front of him. “Yeah,” he says after a moment.

“I’d never do something like that to Laura, or to the kids. You _know_ that.”

He does know, which only makes him feel worse about his outburst. “Did they -- the kids. What did you tell them?”

Natasha's voice drops. “They asked,” she murmurs, trying to conceal her words. “I hate to even bring this up, but I think you guys need to have a talk with Cooper after you get home.”

Clint feels his heart drop into his stomach. They’d been waiting to tell the kids about Laura’s pregnancy, trying to find the right time to sit down with them and explain about how they were getting another brother or sister. Laura had convinced them to wait until at least after the first trimester.

“ _Why_?”

“Look, let’s just say I explained as much as I could, but he’s not two years old,” Natasha says with a sigh. “He had too many questions, including questions about how and why his mom had a baby inside of her in the first place, because apparently he never bothered to think about the specifics of that. He’s also a little upset no one told him that he was going to have a sibling.”

Clint feels his head start to spin and wonders if he’ll be sick again, figuring that at least if he throws up in public, he’d be somewhere where he wouldn’t be judged for it. “Jesus, are you _serious_?”

“Serious about what?” Natasha asks impatiently.

“About Cooper. I mean, ten is too fucking young to have that talk,” Clint says through clenched teeth, though he knows Natasha is right. Cooper had inherited too much of Laura and Clint’s inquisitive personality to not suspect something; moreso, Clint knew he wouldn’t give up asking about what was bothering him until he was provided with an answer. And in that case, Clint knows the alternative -- should he bring it up anywhere outside of the house -- could be disastrous.

Natasha doesn’t respond, as good of an agreement as any to the _yes, I’m serious, and I agree that this is not the right time but you can’t avoid it_ thought process. Clint takes a breath before asking the next question.

“What about Lila?”

Natasha hesitates, and the invisible noose around Clint’s throat tightens.

“Lila was the one who ran upstairs to get me when everything happened. She saw most of it. She thinks her mom got hurt, which isn’t totally a lie. I think the sight of the ambulance really shook her up. And I don’t think her dad yelling helped matters.”

“Yeah,” Clint mutters. “Can I -- can you put her on for a sec?”

“Yes,” Natasha allows, before Lila’s small voice filters over the phone line.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, Lila baby.” Clint tries to make himself sound as optimistic as possible, grateful that at least she can’t see his face. “Guess what? I’m with mommy right now, and she’s going to be okay.”

“Mommy was bleeding.” Lila sounds hesitant, and a little sad. “Tasha said...made you angry.”

Clint feels his heart break in half. “Mommy needed a little bit of help, so that’s why she came to the hospital. But the doctors are going make her all better. She’ll be home in time to tuck you into bed, how’s that?”

“Okay,” Lila says quietly, and then her voice shrinks in volume even more. “Did you...did you and Tasha fight?”

 _Oh_ , Clint thinks, because it’s not like he hadn’t known the question was coming. He had just hoped it would happen after he got home, when he could talk to his daughter in person. Clint takes a long, deep breath.

“Yeah, sweetie, we did. But it was just a little fight. Daddy got angry because he’s scared, like you are.”

“But. You were yelling,” Lila says slowly and Clint can almost see Natasha’s judgmental stare. “You yelled a lot.”

“I know I did,” he admits. “Sometimes, when people love each other, they fight. But that’s just because they care about each other a whole lot. Like when you and Cooper fight. You get mad at your brother but you still love him, right?”

“Yes,” Lila says placidly. “I pull his hair.”

“Well, I pull Natasha’s hair, too,” Clint trades. “And I still love her, and I still love you, and I still love mommy. Okay?”

“Okay.” Lila’s voice drops off, and Clint raises his own again.

“Hey, when we get home later, I’m going to read with you. We’re still reading _Madeline_ , right?”

“Yes,” Lila says solemnly. “It’s _your_ turn to do the voices.”

“I know it is,” Clint responds. “We’ll cuddle on the couch and maybe Natasha can join us, okay?”

“And mommy?” Lila’s high-pitched voice cracks and Clint smiles sadly into the phone.

“And mommy will cuddle also. Let me say goodbye to Natasha.” He pauses. “I love you, Lila baby.”

“Love you, daddy.”

There’s a scraping sound and the echo of bare feet padding against the floor, and once Clint’s sure Natasha’s taken the phone back, he allows himself to groan.

“I’m officially the worst parent ever.”

“Because you lied to your kid about a very adult medical issue that she shouldn’t know about? Or because you yelled in front of her and swore a bunch of times?” Natasha asks pointedly.

“Both, I guess.” He can hear Natasha walking now, figuring she’s still trying to get out of earshot of wherever his kids are in the house.

“Clint. Go be with Laura, who just had one of the scariest moments of her life, because she needs you. Did you even call her parents yet?”

“Not exactly,” Clint admits, making a face at his own words. “God, I really am the worst, aren’t I?”

“No,” Natasha replies. “You’re not the worst. You’re just trying to handle an emotional situation and quite frankly, you’re doing a shit job of it. But I need to get back to cartoons and baking, so call me when you’re on your way home, okay?”

“Yeah.” Clint clears his throat. “Doctor said we can take her home later, anyway.”

“So like I said -- call me when you’re on your way home.” Her voice softens. “I love you.”

Clint tries to imagine Natasha standing beside him, arms wrapped around his torso, fingers pushing against hidden marks made by her own hands when she was still young and vulnerable, a strange reminder of comfort when he’s too lost to find his own. “Love you, too.”

Natasha hangs up and Clint retracts his arm, staring at the screen as the call comes to an end. Six notifications, all of them either voicemails or text messages from Laura’s parents that have failed to come through in regular alerts, thanks to crappy hospital reception.

Clint winces as he shoves the phone into his pocket, ducking back out of the room he’s been occupying, and practically runs into Elizabeth and Bob coming down the hall.

“Clint!”

Elizabeth starts walking faster and shoves herself into his arms. “What happened? They told us, but we had no idea...how is she? Where is she?”

“They mentioned you were here, but we couldn’t reach you,” Bob adds, his words clipped and Clint suddenly knows this situation is absolutely not going to help matters when it came to trying to be Bob Foster’s greatest son-in-law.

“She’s in a room down the hall,” Clint says, jerking his thumb in the direction he’s come from as they start to follow. “I was about to go in now. They gave her some medication after she arrived, because of the pain.”

“We’ll come with you,” Elizabeth says as they approach Laura’s room, and Clint bites down on his lip, hanging back.

“Wait -- Mrs. Foster -- _Elizabeth_ \-- wait, _please_.”

Both of Laura’s parents turn around, and Bob fixes Clint with a hard stare.

“Clint?”

“Just...would it be possible to let me go in first? To make sure she’s okay? I haven’t seen her yet and I really would like a few moments alone. With my wife.” He puts all the emphasis he can on the last three words and Bob’s eyes narrow slightly, though Clint notices there may be a modicum of understanding shoved somewhere underneath the metal demeanor he always projects.

“Of course,” Elizabeth says softly, putting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Clint, of course. We’ll wait outside.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, instantly feeling relief flow through him. “Thank you.” He forces his lips into what he hopes is a somewhat genuine smile and then steps inside the room, closing the door softly behind him.

The curtains have been pulled closed, causing the badly lit room to look even dimmer than usual, and Clint takes a moment to immerse himself in the silence as he approaches Laura’s bed. She’s curled up on her side with a heavy blanket covering most of her body, and Clint notices there’s an IV in the back of her hand but no other visible medical equipment that he’s used to seeing when someone he loves lands in the hospital.

He grabs one of the uncomfortable chairs and drags it around to the bed, taking her hand. As he runs his fingers over her palm in slow back and forth movements, he suddenly finds himself imagining a smaller hand, tiny fingers gripping his own.

Tiny fingers that he knows he’ll never get to see -- at least, not for awhile, if Laura ever wanted to try this again.

_Our little boy._

He immediately starts thinking of Cooper’s first ultrasound, remembering Laura’s words and his as they stared at the sonogram, and when he’s pretty sure she’s not going to wake up right away, he lets himself start to cry.

 

***

 

Despite their concerns, Laura convinces her parents that she’s fine but Clint can easily read between the lines. He thinks if they weren’t in such a terrible position he’d laugh, because Laura’s fibbing was so transparent Clint would have been able to see through her words without even knowing her that well. Nonetheless, he’d prefer to have her home and he knows Laura wants nothing more than to be in her own bed, surrounded by her family and Natasha.

“How…” Laura’s been quiet since leaving the hospital and her voice, when she finally speaks, sounds as tired as she looks. “The kids?”

Clint sighs, steering the car down the road, knowing what she’s asking without having to clarify. “Cooper apparently has...questions,” he says slowly. “But don’t worry. I can handle that. Or Nat can, even. She’s good at talking herself out of complicated situations, trust me.”

Laura stares out the window, her gaze seemingly lost. “Lila?”

Clint closes his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Lila was scared.”

Laura’s voice wavers when she speaks again. “Lila saw it all.”

“I know,” Clint says quietly, figuring it’s probably not the best time to tell her that their daughter also saw the aftermath of what had happened when her dad lost his temper. “I think Natasha’s talking to her. You know how she feels about Natasha...maybe it’ll help.”

“Maybe,” Laura says, putting a hand on her stomach as Clint tries not to notice. “But things stay with you when you’re a kid. You remember certain moments, and they impact you. That’s why we still haven’t told Cooper...your real job...”

“Hey.” Clint stops at a red light and reaches over, putting his hand on hers. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to take care of you and the kids, and we’re going to make it through this. I promise.”

Laura looks up slowly and there’s a sad realization settling in her eyes, as if Clint’s words are hitting her for the first time, despite their talk at the hospital.

“We lost our baby.”

Clint feels the fire in his heart spread to his lungs, and tries to make himself breathe through the pain.

“I know, Laur.”

They drive the rest of the way home in silence and when they walk through the door, Cooper and Lila bolt off the couch from where they’ve been sitting with Natasha, practically flinging themselves at their mother. Cooper hugs her waist while Lila wraps her arms around her legs.

“Mommy! _Mommy_!”

Natasha walks over and gently pries Lila off Laura’s limbs so that the little girl can curl into her arms instead as Cooper lets go.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha apologizes under her breath. “I told them to be careful.”

Clint catches her eye and shakes his head gently as Laura continues to soothe her daughter, smiling down at Cooper.

“Mom, what happened?”

“Mommy, daddy said doctors made you all better!”

“They did,” Clint cuts in, knowing Laura probably won’t respond to the questions. “But mommy’s going to be tired for awhile. So Aunt Nat is going to stay here and help take care of you, until mommy feels okay.”

"Auntie Tasha’s going to _live_ here?” Lila’s face brightens with a smile and even Cooper looks pleased, though Clint suspects that happiness also comes from knowing he can have another steady sports buddy and someone to play with. Still, he figures that if he can give his children _something_ to take their mind off being upset, at least the day wouldn’t be a total loss in terms of parenting.

“For a little bit,” Natasha adds as she takes Lila from Laura’s arms. “Let mommy get changed and then we’ll all eat together like daddy promised.” She passes Clint another look as he helps Laura up the stairs, until they’re finally in the safety of their own room.

“I’m not going to be hungry later,” she says helplessly and Clint thinks he could’ve predicted her words, if nothing else because he knows exactly how it feels, trying to act normal when the world seems like it’s falling apart around you.

“I know,” he admits. “But we’ll make it work. Remember how you tried to keep up a sense of normalcy after New York? When I was going through stuff?” He sits next to her, stroking her hair. “We gotta do the same thing. Otherwise, the kids will really start to worry.”

Laura nods a little sadly and Clint follows her gaze to the desk by the window. He feels a lump well up in his throat when he realizes she’s probably remembering where she’s put the stash of pregnancy books and baby naming materials, the same place she had put things when they were preparing for Cooper and Lila’s births.

“Laura --”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Laura says quietly, averting her gaze and looking down at her hands. “When I woke up this morning, we were going to have a baby. And now, we’re not.” Her voice breaks again and Clint finds himself thinking of what Dr. Moorhouse had said about grief counseling, what Natasha said about taking things slow.

“Remember when we got married, and we promised to be there for each other? No matter what? The whole ‘for better or for worse’ thing?” Clint kisses her on the cheek, rubbing her back. “We’ve both gotten through hard stuff before, and we’ll get through this. You’ve got me, and now you’ve got Nat, and we’re not going to let you go through this alone.” As if on cue, the door opens slowly.

“Hi,” Natasha says, entering the room. “You okay?” She’s looking at Clint but talking to Laura, who doesn’t answer.

“The kids are eating,” she continues, closing the door. “I figured I had a little bit of time to sneak away. Unless you want to be alone.”

Laura shakes her head resolutely, reaching out and grabbing for Natasha. “I needed you,” she says desperately. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Natasha glances over Laura’s head, finding Clint’s eyes, and sits down on the other side of her. “I know,” she says, putting a hand on her leg. “I wanted to be there with you, Laura. I did. But I had to stay with the kids. And Clint had the car...I couldn’t follow you.”

“But I _needed_ you,” Laura repeats, her voice shaking, as if Natasha’s words aren’t making sense. “I wanted you there and you weren’t. What if...what if they hadn’t let you see me?”

“You mean The Black Widow?” Natasha smoothes Laura’s hair back. “Trust me, I would’ve found a way to get around all those dumb legal issues.” She smiles, but Laura doesn’t return the sentiment.

“I needed both of you.”

Natasha puts her arm around Laura, and Clint watches as his wife curls in on herself in a way that’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. He wonders with a start if maybe Laura’s vulnerability is also stemming from the fact that she’s suddenly realized how hard it’s going to be to choose between both of them when it came to situations like this. They had discussed the details of being together for Lila’s birth, but legal restrictions when it came to medical issues was a part of their relationship they had never bothered to hash out -- especially given that most of Clint and Natasha’s more serious hospital stays had taken place in SHIELD.

“If that was the case, I would’ve made them let her in,” Clint adds, even though he knows it wouldn’t have been that easy. It’s at least a response he can offer, a lifeline that he know she can hold onto. Natasha kisses Laura gently, rocking back and forth slowly on the bed.

 

***

 

Ever since she was teenager struggling to fit in with the guys in games of kickball and softball, one of the things Laura’s always prided herself on is the fact that she holds herself resilient, a stalwart anchor against a raging sea, even when it’s in the face of overwhelming odds. Clint teases her all the time about the fact that she doesn’t cry, and he sometimes jokes that he’s pretty sure she’s made of steel, but Laura knows that even _he_ knows that’s not quite true. And although Laura lets Clint (and now Natasha) see the most vulnerable sides of her, she’s always managed to keep up a barrier that’s allowed her to feel like she could hold the world on her shoulders, even when it was crashing down around her.

The first day she’s home from the hospital, she finds herself unable to go more than two hours without tearing up; the first night she spends at home she refuses Natasha’s gentle suggestion of a sleeping pill but regrets it when she wakes up crying, Clint’s arm pressed tight against her body and Natasha stroking her hair, an imitation of what Laura knows she’s done for the other girl so often. And, Laura thinks, maybe it’s her own fault for thinking that she could put this whole experience behind her when they came back to the house and her parents stopped coddling her. But there’s the very real memory of lying helplessly on the floor with her daughter’s scared voice in the background, and the fact that when she puts her hand on her stomach or looks at her iPhone list labeled “baby stuff,” there’s a sense of loss too difficult to explain to Natasha, or even Clint.

“I’m sorry,” Laura apologizes when she breaks down halfway into trying to help Natasha make dinner while Clint’s out with Cooper. Natasha doesn’t hesitate before she takes Laura by the arm, steering her out of the kitchen and towards the couch in the living room.

“We didn’t even have a name.” Laura reaches up and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “It was too early for that...sometimes I even forgot I was pregnant.”

Natasha takes one of Laura’s hands in her own and brings it to her lips, kissing her palm.

“You know that you don’t have to be ashamed about crying in front of me, right? Or about crying at all?” She reaches up and pushes matted wet hair from Laura’s cheek.

“I can’t help it,” Laura says, feeling miserable. “This isn’t me. I’m not the person who can’t hold things together.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Natasha says soothingly and Laura tries to draw in a breath that doesn’t make her feel like she’s drowning.

“Is this...is this what you…”

“You know I can’t have kids,” Natasha says quietly and Laura swallows.

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just...I wondered. Is this what your graduation, like you called it --”

“Is this what it was like?” Natasha’s voice turns sour. “Not exactly. I didn’t have time to grieve or mourn for what was taken from me. I didn’t even think it mattered, back then.” She clenches her jaw. “I just knew what was happening, and I knew what I couldn’t stop. I was terrified, at the time. But then it happened, and then…”

“And then?” Laura feels like her words are stuck in her throat.

“And then I moved on,” Natasha says slowly. “I just kept killing and working and fighting. I didn’t think about it much. It didn’t even bother me, not even when Clint first brought me here. Not until…”

“Until Lila,” Laura finishes, and Natasha nods.

“Yeah.” She puts her hand on Laura’s arm as small feet pound down the stairs. Lila stops short in front of the couch, staring at the two adults in front of her, and Laura can almost see her brain working to process the sight.

“Is mommy sad?”

Natasha promptly reaches over and puts the small child on her knee. “A little bit. Do you think you can help make mommy feel better?”

Lila looks at Laura and then smiles wide. “Yes,” she decides, opening her arms and crawling forward until she’s pressed against Laura in a hug. “When I’m sad, I like to cuddle.” She pauses, taking time with her words, which come out slow and practiced. “Mommy likes to cuddle, too.”

Laura swallows down more tears as her daughter wraps her arms around her body. “Your hair is coming loose,” she says when she finds she can speak again. She tugs at the two braids Clint had created when he woke up and pulls out the elastic, undoing the bottom half of Lila’s hair before re-securing the braids in neat twists. Lila stays still while Laura works, and then perks up when she’s done.

“I can draw you a picture!”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Natasha interjects. “And I think that would make your mom very happy.”

Lila carefully gets up, running back up the stairs and Laura watches her go, feeling sad.

“Do you remember when she was born and I freaked out?”

Laura nods, because she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that, no matter how much the relationship between Lila and Natasha has changed and grown since then.

“Yes.”

Natasha moves closer. “You know what I found helped me? When I felt too lost to belong somewhere, or when I felt like I couldn’t function?”

Laura tries to think, but all she can remember about that time in their lives was the distance that Natasha had kept before she started spending more time with their daughter. “What?”

Natasha strokes her hair again. “Doing something that was routine. Something familiar. For me, it was being with Lila. Feeding her, dressing her, giving her a bath.”

“Clint was like that after New York,” Laura says softly. “He found all those home improvement projects. Focusing on that helped him when he couldn’t do anything else.”

“I know,” Natasha says. “And for you, maybe there can be something that’s routine, also.” She gestures towards the stairs. “Like braiding Lila’s hair.”

“That’s Clint’s job,” Laura says, because Clint’s been doing Lila’s hair since it first grew long enough.

“I know it is.” Natasha kisses her. “But maybe now it can be yours, instead.”

 

***

 

Clint tries to hold off on talking to Cooper for as long as he can, mostly to avoid having a conversation he doesn’t think he’s ready for. Natasha, naturally, yells at him about it.

“The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get,” she says, leaning against the counter and watching him wipe down dishes. “Don’t you remember how I had to push you into telling Laura about us?”

Clint does remember, and he also remembers that particular moment had gone a lot better than he had thought. But he can’t see any universe where telling his ten-year-old son about the nature of the birds and the bees via a conversation of, “mom had a baby inside of her and lost it” will end up going smoothly. So he deals with his anxiety by trying to pretend the looming thought doesn’t exist, ignores Natasha’s glares, and tries to be in denial that it’s something that actually has to happen.

Natasha turns out to be right, in any case, because while Lila is content to help her mom by drawing pictures and giving endless amounts of hugs, Cooper soon figures out that the adults in his life are being cagey. One night, while Clint is wiping down the table and Natasha is watching a movie with Laura, Cooper finishes dinner and then walks over to the counter, chucking his empty plastic plate into the sink with brute force.

“Hey!”

Clint shoots up from his chair as the dish crashes loudly in the metal basin, startling Lila, who jerks around in her seat with wide eyes. Clint puts two hands on his hips. “Cooper, you know the rules. No throwing things in the house, _especially_ when it comes to the kitchen.”

Cooper glares at Clint from underneath a heavy fringe of bangs and then turns around wordlessly. He stomps out of the kitchen and up the stairs, putting emphasis on the steps Clint knows make the most noise.

“People not lying to me should be a rule, too!” Cooper yells out as he disappears, and Clint clenches his teeth together.

“ _Cooper_!”

There’s only the sound of the door slamming in response and Clint tries to keep his frustration from boiling over while Natasha gives him a silent _I told you so_ look. He glances towards Laura, who’s listlessly dozing on the couch, cuddled into Natasha as much as she can without it looking overly suspicious. Clint finds himself wondering when, in the past few days, him and Natasha have become the core parents in the house.

“Finish your dinner, Lila,” he says when his daughter turns to him with questionable eyes. He kisses her on the head before walking up the stairs, where he can hear noises coming from Cooper’s room -- harsh banging sounds that Clint finds out, upon opening the door, are due to the fact that his son is sitting on the bed and throwing his baseball violently against the wall.

“Cooper.”

“ _What_?” Cooper asks moodily, throwing the ball again. Clint’s archer reflexes snap into motion and he reaches out, grabbing the ball before it can bounce back. Cooper looks up in surprise.

“We don’t throw dishes in the sink. And we certainly don’t throw baseballs in the house.”

Cooper scowls at his father and Clint sighs, putting the baseball back on the dresser.

“Hey, Coop.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, and pats his leg. “C’mere.”

Cooper glances up in suspicion but edges closer, until he’s right up against Clint’s side. Clint takes a deep breath.

“I know you’re angry. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to act violently in this house, or in any other place. _Ever_.”

“I don’t care,” Cooper retorts but Clint manages to catch the tremor in his voice that gives away his emotions.

“Do you want to talk about mom for a sec?”

Cooper doesn’t answer but looks up at the question and Clint holds his gaze, locking into his son’s eyes.

“If you’re ready to have an adult conversation, _without_ throwing and yelling, we can talk,” Clint says evenly. “Otherwise, you can sit in your room by yourself until you’re ready to be an adult. You’re not five years old anymore. You don’t need to throw tantrums, and you will _not_ act like that in this house, is that clear?”

Cooper still doesn’t say anything but Clint notices he’s starting to look both confused and uncomfortable instead of angry.

“Tasha said there was gonna be another baby,” he says finally, and Clint nods.

“There was,” he admits, circling an arm around his son, who looks up in defiance.

“So why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Because,” Clint starts, “sometimes, grown-ups keep secrets. We _were_ going to tell you. I promise. But then mommy’s body decided that it wasn’t ready to have the baby yet.”

Cooper’s eyes narrow. “So you can _choose_ when you want a baby?”

“Kind of,” says Clint, figuring the logic behind the assumption isn’t a total lie. “Mommy and daddy love each other. When grown-ups love each other, sometimes they make babies. Like we made you and Lila.” He pokes at Cooper’s side, managing to elicit a fraction of a smile. “So we decided we loved each other enough to have another baby together, and the baby started to grow inside your mom.”

“But now I’m _not_ going to get a baby.” Cooper scrunches his face up, his nose wrinkling and his cheeks becoming wide. “Because something happened, right?”

“Yes,” Clint says. “Because something happened that hurt mommy. That’s why she’s sad right now.” Clint lets the words settle, content not to push this conversation into anything more than it needs to be.

“Are you and Tasha gonna have a baby?”

“ _What_?” Clint’s blindsided by the question, and feels his throat close up. “I...no, Cooper.” He swallows, trying to recover. “Natasha and I aren’t going to have a baby. Natasha’s our friend.”

“But she’s here a lot,” Cooper says, his mouth twisting into a small frown. “She’s been here since I was little, like, all the time. You call her my mom. I call her my mom. And I’ve, like, seen her hug you and mommy.” He pauses. “You told me when Lila was born that hugging someone means that you love them. And I asked Natasha once, and she said she loved you like the way you loved me.”

Clint winces internally. Half of him wants to kill two birds with one stone while the other half of him -- the logical half of him -- knows that it isn’t the right moment at all, especially since Cooper’s inquisitiveness seems to be coming from him putting the pieces together, and not from someone outside his life telling him it’s strange to have two moms and a dad.

“I do love her, but it’s a little different when you’re a grown-up,” Clint says finally. “Grown-up hugs can mean they love each other, but sometimes, it also means they’re just friends. Mommy hugs her friends, and so does Aunt Nat.”

Cooper moves his mouth back and forth in silent thought. “So you’re _only_ going to have babies with mom, then?”

“Yes,” Clint confirms. It’s most of the truth, given Natasha’s inability to have children. Cooper didn’t have to know that there might be talk of a shared child one day, or that his dad slept with someone other than his mom -- or _with_ his mom and someone else, for that matter.

“Okay.” Cooper swings his legs back and forth. “Why did mommy not have the baby, then?”

Clint ruffles Cooper’s overgrown hair, pulling at the dark strands with his fingers. “Sometimes, it’s just not the right time,” he says gently. “You understand that, right? Like when your body says it’s not the right time to eat, and then you get sick?”

“Yeah.” Cooper suddenly pulls away, an apologetic look washing over his face. “Sorry I threw things,” he mumbles, as if he’s embarrassed to say the words out loud. “I didn’t mean to get mad.”

“It’s okay.” Clint leans over and kisses Cooper’s head. “You got angry, right? You felt sad?”

Cooper nods, looking guilty, and Clint finds himself hurting. Cooper had inherited a significant amount of Laura’s traits, but there were more moments than not when he reminded Clint of his younger self. A hotheaded temper and what Natasha called “The Barton Charm” were only a few of the things Clint knows he’s passed onto his son.

“Daddy gets angry and sad, too,” he says slowly. “But instead of throwing things, he talks it out with mommy, or with Aunt Nat. So next time you feel sad, you come talk to us, instead of throwing things in the house. And I promise that we’ll listen, even if we’re sad, too.”

“Even if I’m scared?” Cooper asks in a small voice that makes Clint’s heart ache, because Cooper, like his father, could be all bravado and thick skin -- but only until his walls got knocked down.

“Even if you’re scared,” Clint promises. “Mommy gets scared. Aunt Nat gets scared.”

“Aunt Nat gets _scared_?” Cooper asks in surprise, and Clint wants to laugh. He wonders if Natasha knows that while Clint and Laura see her as a softened version of herself when it comes to the children, Cooper still sees her as the strong, undeterred adult who helps him with bullies and has a glare that can melt ice.

“Aunt Nat gets scared, just like you,” Clint confirms. “So, see? There’s never any shame in being scared, Coop.”

Cooper looks unconvinced. “I dunno. Aunt Nat’s not scared of _anything_.”

“Nope. That’s not true,” Clint responds. “She was pretty scared when your mom went away. And I was, too.”

“I heard you yelling.” Cooper looks a little guilty. “You yelled at Aunt Nat. I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t wanna get in trouble.”

Clint nods, knowing he has no one to blame except himself for lashing out. “I’m sorry I acted that way in front of you. That’s my fault.” He notices Cooper looks a little uncomfortable at his words.

“What’s wrong?”

Cooper shrugs. “Just...I didn’t think dads got scared, either.”

Clint feels his lips turn up. “Trust me, Coop. _Everyone_ gets scared, no matter how old you are or what you do for a job. That doesn’t matter. But learning how to deal with being scared, and being mature about it? In the end, that’s what matters.” He hugs his son, rubbing their shoulders together. “I love you, okay? Even when we both get upset, I will _always_ love you. Never forget that.”

“I know,” Cooper says quietly, before pausing. “Did Lila know about the baby?”

Clint shakes his head, putting a hand on Cooper’s knee. “Not really. Not in the way we just talked about. She’s still too little to understand all of this. So let’s keep this between us, okay? You can come to me with questions, or you can go to mom or Aunt Nat if you need to talk, and we’ll all help you.”

Cooper presses small palms against the baseball-patterned covers and Clint squeezes his leg gently.

“So, what do you say, kiddo. Are we good?”

Cooper leans in immediately, giving Clint a long, tight hug, snuggling up against him. When he pulls away, he’s smiling.

“Yeah, dad. We’re good.”

 

***

 

After a week of Laura moping around the house and occasionally breaking down, Clint realizes he can’t take it anymore. He feels bad complaining continually to Natasha, who he’s pretty sure is dealing with her own stress of placating his children and soothing his wife -- she doesn’t say the words out loud, but he finds her more short-fused than usual.

“Sorry,” Clint apologizes almost immediately when Elizabeth walks through the door of the small cafe in town. “I know you’re busy.”

“What would I be busy with, Clint? Groceries? Gardening? Worrying about my daughter?” She smiles as she leans over to kiss Clint, but he notices her eyes are tired, and he knows why.

“I’ve been trying to make sure she calls you,” he says a little miserably, because suddenly he feels like he’s doing a shit job at being a good husband. Laura’s mother seems to read Clint’s mind, because she reaches out and takes his hand as she sits down.

“Don’t let Laura make you think you’re not handling this well,” says Elizabeth. “She’s not going to call me unless she wants to, and she’s certainly not going to talk to you unless she wants to. She’s closing herself off for a reason, and that reason is because she’s scared.” She raises an eyebrow as Clint tries to hide what he knows is a frustrated look. “I know you want me to tell you what to do. Unless you just wanted me to come meet you so that we could talk about my grandchildren.”

Clint laughs. “We can do that, too.” He pauses. “I want you to tell me what to do,” he admits. “Because I don’t _know_ what to do, or how to make things better. I know what the doctor said -- I know what she’s going through. I know there are things I can’t help with. But there’s gotta be _something_...right?”

Elizabeth gives him a sad stare. “We’ve never experienced miscarriages in our family before,” she says, shaking her head. “Laura’s grandmother was biologically incapable of having children, and she knew that long before she even tried to get pregnant, so she adopted me. My own pregnancy was a dream, and you know how Laura’s first two babies were. The only thing you _can_ do, Clint, is be there for her.”

Clint looks down at his coffee and Elizabeth squeezes his palm gently.

“You’ve both grown so much,” she continues. “When Laura first got pregnant, I told her that having children would allow you grow together, and it did. It changed you.”

“It only changed me a little bit,” Clint hedges. “I’d still give her the world. I always will.”

“I know you will.” Laura’s mom smiles. “And you know that I’ve never doubted your dedication to my daughter, Clint. Even if my husband has had other feelings over the years.”

Maybe it’s because he’s overtired, or maybe it’s because he’s been around Laura and her parents for so long, but Clint realizes he doesn’t feel quite as stung by Elizabeth’s words the way he knows he would have been a few years ago. He looks up again and takes a sip of coffee.

“Thanks. I’m -- Laura’s lucky.”

Elizabeth gives him a sad smile, swirling her coffee. “Laura told me what happened to your parents,” she says. “About how they passed away early on. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Clint’s never bothered to tell Laura’s parents about his full family history, even though he assumes at some point Laura must have done it herself. He hadn’t been particularly annoyed at the realization, though, because he knew that was Laura, and that was the kind of relationship she had with her parents.

“It must have been hard, being alone.”

Clint shrugs lazily. “I had a brother. For awhile. He left at some point, got it in his head that he needed to be on his own. I still haven’t heard from him.” He reaches for a sugar packet, shaking it into his cup. “I tried to stay off the wrong path, which is why I joined the military in the first place. And then bartending was a natural fit when I wanted to get out of the field, but didn’t want to seclude myself or fall into a hole of post traumatic depression. Constantly interacting with customers in that atmosphere helped me, more than I know working in a store would.”

“You realized what was important in your life,” says Elizabeth and Clint almost laughs, because he suddenly feels like he’s talking to his wife.

“I realized the kind of person I wanted to be. Mostly because I knew I would never have the things other people could have, so I tried to keep myself optimistic with what I _did_ have.” He leans forward onto his elbows. “I would’ve been happy for the rest of my life working at that bar, on my own terms, if Laura hadn’t shown up. But I’m really glad she did.”

“I am, too,” Elizabeth says with a smile. “Even if I raised a few eyebrows when she called and told me where she met her new boyfriend.”

Clint grins, feeling a little comforted by Elizabeth’s light tone. “Not the typical way Foster women meet their husbands, huh?”

Elizabeth laughs openly, shaking her head. “Not really. But I look at Laura’s life, and how full it is, and I find myself thankful every day that she met you.”

Clint takes another long drink of coffee. “I’ve got some new pictures,” he says after a moment, unable to help himself. He _had_ called Laura’s mother because he wanted her help, but proud parent mode was still prominent and it hadn’t stopped him from grabbing a recent stack of photos on the way out.

Elizabeth scoots closer while Clint shuffles through pictures of Lila and Cooper, stills of Lila in her chair with chocolate smeared all over her face, of Lila smiling at the camera with her hair tied into small pigtails the night they sat down with Natasha and watched _Star Wars_ for the first time together, of Cooper sitting on the porch with a too-big smile and missing teeth and his baseball cap falling down over his eyes, of Laura attempting to wrangle the two kids into her arms while sitting on the lawn during a picnic, Lila distractedly pulling at her mom’s hair. Laura’s mother looks at each one, brushing her fingers over the gloss.

“You’ll have another,” she says softly, her voice a whisper against the din of the cafe that’s growing busier by the minute as the lunch crowd rushes in. Clint shuffles the photos back into the envelope, not wanting to think about what’s been pushed to the back of his mind.

“Maybe.”

“No. I know my daughter, Clint. It’ll take awhile, but she’ll come back around, and she’ll want the baby she never had a chance to have. I promise.” Elizabeth gets up to grab a few napkins and as she does so, Clint pulls out his phone, hitting it once so that it lights up with his wallpaper photo: a close-up of Cooper and Lila sleeping together on their bed, entwined in each other’s arms. No missed calls, and no texts from either Natasha or Laura, which meant that at least the fort was being held down well enough. Clint sighs and takes another sip of coffee, reaching for another envelope of photos as Elizabeth returns to the table.

 

***

 

The second week of June, Clint wakes up at five in the morning thanks to shooting pain in his legs, a flare-up he recognizes from an old injury most likely exacerbated from giving Lila one too many piggybacks. He forces himself out of bed when he knows sleep is a lost cause; Laura’s at least gotten better about resting, having finally taken Natasha up on her medication offer. But even without the aid of his body reminding him that he’s pushing himself too hard at home and otherwise, Clint’s found himself on edge at all hours. As a result, his mental state has been frayed, and even though Natasha hasn’t said anything, he suspects her mentality has taken the same hit, for the same reasons.

He throws a quick glance to Laura’s still form and then kisses her gently, before getting out of bed and hobbling to the bathroom to pop two Aspirin. Natasha’s been switching on and off between their bedroom and the guest room, depending on how Laura’s felt on any given night, and tonight it’s just them in the bed. He checks in anyway as he passes by her room, and after a perfunctory check on his kids, he heads quietly down the stairs, yawning slightly as he gets to the kitchen. Grabbing for an available mug, he uses the instant hot water to make himself a quick cup of instant coffee, trying not to make a face at the watery taste when he starts to drink. It’s not the heavy sludge that he’s used to and that he prefers from the drip, but he knows it’ll hold him over until everyone else gets up and he can start the morning correctly.

Clint stands in the middle of the kitchen, thumbing the side of the mug he’s chosen -- NUMBER ONE MOM, a gift from Natasha to Laura because she’s stopped asking when they were going to lay off with the kitschy stuff -- while taking in the quiet of the house. He knows Laura likes to do this often: get up early and enjoy patches of peace and quiet. It was something that had been easier to do lately, now that the kids were older and slept a little later, even if Lila had inherited Laura’s penchant of waking up early with the perkiest amount of energy.

“My daughter, you are not,” Clint mutters to himself with a small smile as footsteps approach the kitchen. He’s surprised to turn around and find Lila standing at the bottom of the stairs, her thumb sticking out of her mouth and her hair slightly rumpled. The small stuffed wolf that Natasha had gotten her as a baby gift, which Lila has affectionately named Brownie, is clutched tightly underneath one arm.

“Daddy?”

“Hey.” Clint puts down his coffee cup and walks towards her, his dad radar immediately spiking as he bends down, ignoring the pain in his joints. “What’s wrong, Lila baby?”

He keeps his voice quiet and soothing as his daughter rubs at her eyes, before wrapping her arms around Clint’s neck.

“Bad dream.” Lila lets her head fall onto his shoulder and Clint threads his fingers through tangled hair.

“Come here.” He picks her up and manages to stand with little issue, moving to the couch. When Lila curls into him, he can feel the hot pattern of tiny breaths against his bare chest.

“Are you scared of something?” Clint asks gently and Lila nods.

“Mommy got hurt and went away.”

“Oh, Lila baby.” Clint instantly hugs his daughter more tightly. “Nothing is going to happen to mommy. I promise. That’s why we’ve got Aunt Nat here.”

Lila shakes her head. “Mommy runned away. Tasha runned away, too.”

Clint adjusts his daughter in his arms. “Lila, I need you to listen to daddy, okay? Mommy’s not going anywhere. She’s safe, and she loves you very much. And Aunt Tasha’s not going to leave you, not until mommy’s better.”

Lila sniffles quietly. “When Tasha leaves again, will you and mommy play?”

Clint puts his hand on the back of his daughter’s head and rocks her, trying to stop himself from tearing up. “Daddy and mommy will _always_ play with you, Lila baby. So will Natasha. And we’ll always read with you. And kiss you and cuddle you and tickle you. Nothing is ever going to change that.” He reaches down and runs his fingers over his daughter’s stomach as Lila immediately doubles in on herself, giggling until Clint flips her over, lifting her easily so that he can nuzzle her face. Lila grabs for his arms again and folds against Clint’s body.

“Remember how you’re not scared of anything when daddy’s here, because he takes care of all the bad things?”

“Yes,” Lila says, her voice muffled and disjointed against his skin. “Daddy scares all bad things away.”

“Do you want daddy to stay with you while you sleep? And mommy? That way you’ll know you’re safe?”

Lila nods. “Brownie too?”

“Yes.” Clint reaches over and grabs the stuffed animal that’s fallen onto the seat next to him, handing her the wolf. “Brownie can come, too.” He grits his teeth against more pain as he gets up from the couch, holding Lila tight in both arms, and then walks back up the stairs.

“Clint?” Laura turns over as the door creaks open, her voice caked with sleep. She struggles to open an eye.

“Brought you a visitor.” Clint bounces Lila gently against his chest as he crosses to the other side of the bed, putting her down onto the covers. He pulls them back as much as he can as his daughter crawls into the middle, nestling herself underneath Laura’s chin.

“Hi mommy.” Lila pats Laura’s mouth with her small palms and even in the dark, Clint can see the emotions written all over Laura’s face.

“Hi, Lila baby.”

Clint stretches out as Lila acclimates, curling up again against her mother, while Clint strokes her hair.

“If you get scared and wake up again, daddy’s going to be right here,” Clint says, folding an arm around her waist securely. “No one can hurt you while daddy’s holding you, and while mommy’s here.”

“And Aunt Nat?”

Clint kisses her cheek. “And Aunt Nat. She’s right across the hall, just like she always is.” He closes his eyes, lulled by his daughter’s slow breathing, and attempts to fall back asleep himself.

It’s a lost cause, as he wakes again an hour later, debating whether or not getting up will disturb his daughter, who is curled into the pillow with her wolf in one hand and her thumb in her mouth. After some stealth movement that he thinks even Natasha might be proud of, he manages to leave the bed without causing a scene and makes his way downstairs, deciding that it’s late enough to fill the coffee pot for real. Clint pours water and shakes some grounds into the filter, hitting the button and leaning over the counter. He watches the steady drip become heavier, until the overwhelming smell of caffeine starts to alert his senses.

“Do you have some for me?”

Clint smiles at Laura’s voice behind him, and half wonders how she also managed to get up without waking Lila.

“She sleeps like a rock when she’s out,” Laura says, as if reading Clint’s mind. “Takes after her father.”

“I do _not_ sleep like a rock,” Clint mutters as he grabs two mugs from the drying rack, turning around to hand one over.

Laura smiles faintly. “Yes you do, and I have multiple stories from Natasha that prove it.”

“Ugh.” Clint grunts as he takes the pot and walks over to kiss her, filling her mug while trying to ignore the still-stabbing pain in his joints. “Speaking of Nat, is she still sleeping?”

“I think so.” Laura takes a sip of coffee. “I figure Lila will wake her soon enough. She knows what she’s in for when she sleeps upstairs.”

“That’s why she stays up there instead of down here,” Clint says with a tired grin. “As long as you’re awake, you want me to make you something? Before the world goes to hell with our spawns?”

Laura smiles back, but Clint notices it’s probably only half of what he would consider a genuine expression. “Cereal?”

Clint nods and walks to the cupboard, taking out a box of Cheerios and preparing a bowl before grabbing milk from the fridge and a banana from the fruit basket. “Still early,” he says, glancing out the window at the dusk that’s just beginning to lift. “We can sit on the porch, if you want.”

Laura shrugs off his comment and Clint figures that’s about as much of a yes as he’s going to get, so he fills his own coffee mug and gathers both the bowl and their communal sweatshirt, Laura clutching her own mug in her hand as she follows him outside.

“Gotta fix that step,” Clint mutters as he sits down on the swing, staring at the half-broken wood as they place their coffees on the small table in front of them. Laura takes the sweatshirt that’s draped across his arm and wraps it around herself, leaning into his shoulder as he balances the bowl on his leg with one hand.

“It can wait.” Laura reaches for her breakfast, fingering the spoon carefully. “Clint. I know this hasn’t been easy.”

Clint snorts. “I told you the same thing after New York.”

“And I told you not to blame yourself for what happened,” Laura responds. “And then I helped you through it, by being there, even when it was hard for me.”

Clint stares at the sky, watching the sun stretch pink and yellow fingers over the top of the trees. “I had coffee with your mom the other day,” he says finally, and Laura nods.

“I know. She told me.” Laura’s other hand curls into his arm. “She said you were worried that you weren’t doing enough for me.”

Clint shakes his head. “I’m not,” he admits. “I know I’m supposed to help you, but I can’t fix you, Laura.”

“I didn’t ask to be fixed,” Laura says a little too sharply and Clint cringes at her tone.

“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean it like --” He stops, and Laura gives him a look.

“Like what? Like Natasha?”

Clint looks at the ground and Laura puts her bowl down so she can hold onto him more securely. “That’s not the point. The point is, you shouldn’t be running yourself ragged at my expense. You’ve barely slept. You don’t even get to eat real meals anymore, because you’re dealing with the kids all the time.”

“That’s what parenting is,” Clint defends. “And anyway, Natasha helps.” He knows she’s right, though, and he hasn’t been dumb enough to realize his physical discomfort isn’t without probable cause. He’s been overcompensating the only way he knows how, doing ten times the work he probably needs to do in the wake of Laura taking her time to recover, both in and out of the house. And without having been out in the field, without keeping his training consistent, he’s realizing more and more how much his body is becoming susceptible to age.

“Parenting is not doing everything on your own until you run yourself into the ground,” Laura responds. “Parenting is taking care of yourself and asking for help when you need it. Help beyond the obvious people. We have friends, remember? People that we know that would be willing to pitch in if we asked.”

Clint leans back in the chair. “I know. But it’s not fair.”

Laura looks surprised. “What’s not fair?”

“To put this on you. Any of it. All of the things we’re dealing with.” He knows he could and should be angry about how Laura is making it so hard for them to function, but he also knows it’s not worth the frustration. Not when she was dealing with a loss that even she couldn’t understand that well, not to mention two kids and a still-complicated polyamorous relationship.

Laura sighs quietly, a defeated whine that sounds harsher than it should in the silence.

“Natasha was right.”

“What?” Clint swivels his head.

“Natasha. After she got shot on that mission a few years ago, and you blamed yourself because you didn’t do enough. She said you’d let yourself come apart before you let anyone else in your life fall.”

Clint grits his teeth, annoyed and frustrated at the same time. “So what?”

“So.” Laura’s voice is soft and measured, mingling with the light and gentle breeze that’s arriving with the morning sunrise. “I want to know when you’ll finally learn.”

“Learn _what_?”

Laura leans over and puts her chin on his shoulder. “That if you’re just _here_ for me...if you just made sure I was okay and that the kids were okay, then that would be enough.”

When Clint turns, he sees a look settling into Laura’s eyes that he recognizes from when she told him it was _okay_ that they didn’t make it to the top of the mountain at the lake house, that _yes_ , he would be a good father, that _of course_ Cooper would still remember his dad when he came home from his new job. The short silence is broken by the sound of the door opening and closing behind them, and then a soft yet high-pitched voice.

“Spawn number one,” he mutters, thankful he’s at least had the foresight to put down his coffee before Lila is deposited into his lap. “Right on schedule.” Lila grins at her father and kisses him while Natasha stands behind Clint, running her hands over the back of his neck.

“It’s number two, technically,” she interjects, looking over at Laura and winking at her. “Nice sweatshirt, by the way. Cooper’s brushing his teeth, but he’ll be down in a bit. Also, he told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted dinosaur shaped pancakes. Unfortunately, my cooking skills only go so far when it comes to this household. I swear, that child is so spoiled.”

“He is,” Laura admits. “And it probably didn’t help that _someone_ decided he absolutely had to cook for him every time he came home from work.” She lifts an eyebrow as Clint shrugs.

“Hey, my kid wanted pancakes, so I’d make him pancakes. Even if they had to be shaped like dinosaurs. Or Mickey Mouse. Just be glad you missed his transportation phase, because it was a disaster watching me trying to make trucks and airplanes.”

“That’s true,” Laura remarks as she gets up. Clint passes her Lila, who settles against her hip. “But if my child wants dinosaur pancakes, then I suppose it’s my duty to make dinosaur pancakes.” She leans over to kiss Clint as Natasha takes her seat, reaching out to steal Clint’s cup of coffee without asking, before stretching her legs onto the porch railing.

“Heard you had some company last night,” she says conversationally, and Clint nods.

“Yeah.” He takes his coffee back. “Lila had a bad dream about Laura and the miscarriage. I would’ve brought her to you, but I didn’t want to wake you so early.”

“No,” Natasha says, and Clint tries not to focus on the hint of sadness that he manages to pick up in her voice. “She needed her parents. Anyway, I was thinking of going out with her a little later. If you guys can handle Cooper.”

“Course,” Clint says, scratching at an old scab, wondering how long he can get away with the action before Natasha notices. “Maybe take her into town for a bit? The bookstore has a new children’s section, and there might be a storytime today.”

“I’ll check,” Natasha says, swatting his fingers away from his arm. She leans back in her chair, side-eying him. “You really _have_ gotten domesticated, haven’t you? Storytime, dinosaur pancakes...what’s next, ladies who lunch?”

“Knock it off,” Clint mutters, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. He’d been barely a father when Natasha had met him, and she hadn’t even known about Cooper until he had felt comfortable enough to let her in on the fact that in addition to a wife, he also had an infant baby. Laura had watched him grow into a dad who believed in himself and Natasha had also seen that growth, but from a different side -- the side that finished missions more quickly so he could come home, that took more care when it came to talking to anyone in danger that was a young child, that sometimes became conflicted about when and where to put his work first and his family second.

“You’re thinking,” Natasha points out after a moment. “Stop thinking so much. It makes you age.”

Clint’s in the middle of taking another sip of coffee and practically chokes as he barks out a laugh. Natasha gives him a sharp look.

“Sorry,” he says, when he can speak again. “It’s just kind of funny. I remember Laura saying that exact same thing to me when Cooper was born.”

“Mmmm.” Natasha smirks. “Well, maybe if two of the most important women in your life are telling you to _relax_ and take care of yourself, you should listen.” She stretches her arms above her head, nodding towards his body. “Your leg’s bothering you.”

Clint grimaces. “Knees, really, but yeah. What was that thing you said about aging again?”

Natasha doesn’t answer but looks over with a slightly sympathetic gaze. “You going to be okay to get back into the field?”

“What? Of course. Anyway, I can’t even think about that right now,” Clint responds, handing her his mug. He knows he’s not leaving the farm until Laura’s okay, however long it takes for _okay_ to happen. And although Fury and Hill had been more than understanding of the situation, Clint’s already admitted to himself that he’s willing to deal with whatever consequences came with his unplanned sabbatical.

“I’m not saying you have to think about it,” Natasha says, sounding irritated. “I’m just _saying_. You’re not twenty anymore.”

“You didn’t even _know_ me when I was twenty. And where exactly is the part of this conversation that makes me feel less like crap?” Clint asks grumpily as Natasha puts a hand on his arm.

“The part where I remind you that maybe this is where you need to be for awhile. Maybe this is where I need to be, too.”

Clint fights off the instinct to react to the tingling sensation in his leg. “We’re Avengers,” he says a little hesitantly.

“ _We_ are. But regardless of what I choose for my own life, and what I feel for you and Laura, you’ve always been a father, first.”

Laura calls out for breakfast before he can respond, her voice mingling with a scream that Clint supposes is Cooper finding another unique way to torment his sister before eight in the morning.

“Speak of the devil. I suppose I have to face the music that is my own family, don’t I?”

Natasha shrugs. “Not necessarily,” she says, taking another sip of coffee. “Stay with me little longer. At least until after sunrise.” She leans into him as he absently starts stroking her hair, listening to his children’s yells and Laura’s soft voice as it filters through the open window.

 

***

 

Later that afternoon, while Laura spends some much needed quality time with her children, Clint is measuring beams for new porch rails when Natasha walks into his work room and sits down on the floor, curling up against his shoulder with a small sigh.

“Hey,” he says with a grin, shifting and dropping his tape measure so that he can put an arm around her, because even though it’s becoming less rare for Natasha to be vulnerable like this around him and around the farm, he still loves when the moments happen. “You okay?”

Natasha nods. “Tired,” she says, closing her eyes and Clint exhales slowly.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” He lets himself relax, abandoning his project for the time being.

“Does it remind you of me?” Natasha asks quietly, dragging a finger across his arm. Clint hums under his breath.

“Does what remind me of you?”

Natasha hesitates. “This,” she says. “Not being able to sleep. Having to worry that someone you care about is going to destroy you or the people that you love.”

Clint swallows down unexpected emotion at the question. “Kind of,” he admits, letting her lean into him more fully. “I guess the difference is, I’m not scared she’ll kill me and then hide the body when no one’s looking.”

Natasha’s silent for a long time. “I wouldn’t have killed you,” she says finally, her voice pressed against his arm. “Any of the times you thought I would have.”

Clint laughs slightly. “Well, I know that _now_.”

“I’m serious.” Natasha lifts her head and Clint can see the tears shining in the corner of her eyes. He frowns, immediately regretting his teasing comment, and pulls her back against him.

“What’s this really about, Nat?”

Natasha doesn’t answer at first but Clint doesn’t push her, electing to hold her tighter instead. It’s not a life or death situation, which means that he can afford to let Natasha decide when and how she wants to explain the feelings he knows she sometimes has trouble expressing.

“Laura reminds me of myself,” she says slowly. “Not me, really, because I could never be that vulnerable. But the way she’s afraid of everything...even herself...the way she doesn’t trust the world because of what it did to her, because of the hand it dealt her.” Natasha stops and steadies her voice. “I know that feeling, Clint. I _remember_ that feeling.”

Clint feels his stomach roll a little too quickly. “Is this because of the Red Room?”

“No.” Natasha sounds sad. “It’s not even that. It’s not about the fact that she lost a child. It’s about her mindset. It’s what I see when I look into her eyes, and what I see when the children hug her. There’s _fear_.” She whispers the last word, as if she’s afraid to say it out loud, but Clint thinks he knows what she means. Laura wasn’t perfect, even though Clint had no problem admitting that he thought she was. But the fact that she could ever be afraid or scared when it came to something like her own family was a foreign concept.

“You were different,” he says after a long pause. “I was worried about you because I didn’t know if I _knew_ you. I know Laura. I’ve known Laura for over ten years.”

“And how is that different?” Natasha’s voice isn’t accusatory as much as it is curious, and Clint ruminates on the question as he lets her scratch her nails into the skin of his stomach, where his shirt has risen up. He feels like maybe he should worry that one of his children will catch them cuddling like this, but tries to ignore the thought.

“I know Laura, and I know her mind,” he says. “You, I didn’t know. I thought I did. I thought I had figured you out, at least well enough by the time I agreed to take you under my wing. But I didn’t know what was going to set off a trigger, or if you would take someone down in training that I would end up being responsible for. I could only see a little bit in front of me, and I wasn’t used to that.”

Natasha sighs. “I suppose it didn’t help when I tried to strangle you.”

“No,” Clint agrees, thinking of their first few months alone. “But that wasn’t you. That was your trigger. And for the record, Laura doesn’t know about that. I never told her, especially after the first few times I came home with all those sparring injuries.”

“Maybe you should,” Natasha says a little uncertainly. “She’s already scared. Maybe she should know that I can be dangerous, too.”

“What? No. Nat…” Clint shakes his head. “No. There are things that stay between us, and that’s one of them. Not because I don’t love or trust her, but because that’s our relationship, and that was our fight. That’s part of what made us who we are and that’s something I share with you. No one else.”

Natasha nods against him. “I’m sorry,” she says slowly. “I guess I just needed someone to tell me that this wasn’t going to be me all over again.”

Clint strokes her hair. “That Laura’s not going to wake up trying to kill us in the middle of the night?”

“That we’re not going to lose her,” Natasha whispers against Clint’s shirt.

There’s a chill that shoots through his bones, even though he knows Natasha’s words are coming from a place of paranoia more than anything else. “We’re not going to lose her,” he murmurs but suddenly he can’t stop his hands from shaking, Natasha’s thoughts creeping into his brain, mingling with everything he’s seen and helped Laura through so far since her miscarriage, including her hesitancy to ease back into a normal life.

“Fuck.”

Natasha shoots up beside him, looking at him intensely. “What?”

“Nothing. Just... _fuck_ ,” he says angrily, staring down at his fingers. Natasha leans over and instantly takes his hand, folding their palms together. She kisses the back of his neck.

“Keep working,” she says softly, guiding his hands back to the tape measure. “Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me what you’re working on.”

Clint takes a breath, feeling his heart smack too hard and too fast against his ribcage. “Making porch railings,” he says as he picks up the tape measure again, Natasha’s hands still covering his. “Measuring the beams so that they’ll fit correctly. I need to make sure the wood is cut at the right length before sanding it down.”

“What do you after you sand it down?” Natasha asks in the same quiet voice.

“Lay the pieces on a flat surface and screw the undersides. Round out the edges, make sure everything is even. Put nails in the railing after marking the positions, and then line it up under beams.”

Natasha stays next to him until his body has stopped shaking and as he levels out, he finds himself wondering how many quiet moments have added up between all of them in the past few weeks alone. “Thanks,” he says as Natasha strokes his hair, the tightness in his chest dissipating enough for him to know the episode has mostly passed. She kisses him again.

“Does it happen often?”

“Often enough,” Clint says, because he doesn’t feel like hiding. “I was good for awhile, until recently. I guess I’m still figuring out my own triggers.” He pauses. “This isn’t helping the old man argument, is it?”

Natasha’s hands continue to pad his skin. “Having triggers doesn’t make you an old man,” she says quietly and Clint sits in silence, focusing on his breathing.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says finally. “If it comes down to that. I don’t...if you want to go and fight, I’m not going to stop you.” He tries to smile. “I may track you every once in awhile, though, to make sure you’re still breathing.”

“I’ve lived with worse threats,” Natasha says, smoothing her knuckles over his neck, an imitation of how Laura calms him so often. “If and when we need to talk about that, we’ll do it together. All of us.”

Clint nods slowly, before realizing what her words mean.

“All of us?”

“Yes,” says Natasha. “You. Me. Laura. This isn’t just about you and me anymore. We sit down and decide together how we’re going to take care of ourselves. If this whole situation has taught me anything, it’s that this is what we do: we talk about our choices and we look out for each other. Right?”

Clint closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says as Natasha holds him tightly. “This what we do.”

 

***

 

After Clint, Laura and Natasha consummate their relationship by sleeping together for the first time, and after Laura’s begun to heal with more progress than even she’s expected, Natasha finds herself interrupted during a series of complicated sit-ups.

“Busy?” Laura asks cautiously as she approaches the middle of the lawn, pulling her hair up into a loose bun.

“Not really,” Natasha says with a shrug. “Unless you count this workout.” She does one more sit-up and then grabs for the towel lying next to her, wiping the back of her neck. “I could still do with a massage, though.” She adds the words with a smirk, and Laura smiles in return as she gets down on the ground, scooting closer as Natasha arches her back.

“The threesome was your idea,” says Laura after a long moment.

“Yes,” Natasha says, allowing Laura to knead at her muscles. “But you know that Clint and I have been talking about it for years. It was just a matter of when it was going to happen.”

“I know.” Laura’s hands start to squeeze her skin a little more aggressively. “So why now? And how did you know it would help me?”

Natasha feels her shoulders stiffen, despite Laura’s touch. “I didn’t. But the world dealt you a shitty hand, Laura. I could be more gentle about it, and I have been, but you and I both know that’s what it comes down to.” She pauses. “In my line of work -- in my life -- I learned that the best way to show the world it didn’t own you was to own it yourself. In whatever way.”

“That way wasn’t always by threesomes,” Laura asserts and Natasha laughs, because she can’t help it.

“No, Laura. Sometimes it was sex. Sometimes it was fighting. Sometimes it was --”

“Killing?”

Years ago, Natasha supposes Laura’s question would have made her flinch. Now, after everything they’ve been through and everything that Laura already knows, she realizes it just makes her sad.

“At some point in my life,” she says carefully. “I’m not going to say that it was the right way to go about making myself feel better. But it was the only way I knew, at the time.”

Laura falls quiet, continuing to massage Natasha’s back. “What changed?”

Natasha considers how she wants to answer, thinking of the Red Room, and of Clint. “I don’t know,” she says, wishing she had a better way to describe what she’s thinking. She often admired Laura’s ability to be able to express herself so easily; she’d never specifically asked but had always guessed it was something that came naturally to Clint’s wife. “I guess I just found a more...healthy way of handling my demons. Clint helped with that. You did, too.”

“I didn’t do much of anything.”

Natasha laughs again. “Yes, you did. You let me into your home. You let me into your life, and the lives of your kids, even when you knew who I was and what I had done.”

“I didn’t know what you had done, until I read those files,” Laura responds. “After I let you in. And besides, Clint let you in first. He made me feel like you were someone I could trust, when I wasn’t sure. When I didn’t know you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Natasha. “It would have meant nothing if you hadn’t accepted me into this family. If I didn’t feel like I had a place that that wasn’t just working at SHIELD, or living with Clint in an apartment…” She finds herself trailing off and Laura’s hands still on her body.

“Who did you kill?”

Natasha wonders if this is the right conversation to be having, considering Laura’s still-healing body and mind. Then again, she knows she’s always trusted Laura’s intuition and her decisions.

“Everyone.” She swallows hard. “Babies. Children. My friends. Important people in the world...people who were just living their lives without knowing they’d been targeted.” Natasha looks down at her hands, which are bruised with grass stains and dirt. They’re hands that she knows have strangled people, and hands that have drawn knives and thrown punches, hands that now change diapers and hold bottles and soothe away a toddler's fears. She realizes her fingers are shaking, the way Clint’s were when she found him working a few weeks ago.

“Why?”

 _Why, indeed._ “It’s what I was conditioned to do,” she says dully, trying to force herself to level out. “It’s what the world decided for me. Until I got smart. Until I got out.” She turns abruptly, facing Laura, feeling the lines on her forehead multiply. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I don’t understand.”

Laura, to her credit, looks a little confused. “What happened to me...what happened with this --” She stops, gesturing to her stomach. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’ve never had something taken away from me like this before. It’s the first time in my life I ever felt helpless and I thought...I thought maybe...”

Natasha watches the way Laura’s face shifts from confusion to anger. “You know that I’ve done violent things, and you thought I’d know how it feels to want to hurt something.”

Laura nods and Natasha counts to ten in her head, collecting her thoughts.

“Remember when I told you that I didn’t want this life for you?”

“I’m not asking for your life,” Laura says, sounding a little annoyed. Natasha sighs.

“But if you let yourself think about it the way I did -- the way I was conditioned to -- that the only way to get back at the world is to act out violently with no consequences...Laura, that’s _exactly_ what I mean when I say I don’t want this life for you.” She takes Laura’s face in both hands. “You can learn how to defend yourself. You can share in the parts of my life and Clint’s life that exist outside of this farm. But Clint told Cooper that you don’t act out when you’re upset. Don’t be different just because you _do_ understand how cruel life can really be, and because you think you’re tough enough to handle it.”

Laura bites down on her lip, and Natasha can practically see her thoughts forming. “So what do I do?”

“Well, we could have more threesomes, for one.” Natasha kisses her gently on the forehead, brushing the pad of her thumb over Laura’s lips as she starts to smile. “What you do is you _live_ , Laura. You live, because you have a husband who would bend over backwards to make you happy. You have kids who would be lost without your support. You have parents that are willing to give you second chances, because when it comes down to it, you’re their daughter and they will always put you first. That...all of that, _that_ is your legacy, Laura. Not being violent and trying to figure out how to anger the fates, like me.” She moves her hand, continuing to rub her thumb over Laura’s cheek until the other girl speaks again.

“How many debts should the universe have to pay out for three people who keep asking it for more favors?”

“I wish I knew,” Natasha replies bitterly. “Your miscarriage, Clint’s brainwashing, my past...if I did know the answer to that question, I’d be a millionaire.” She leans forward and kisses Laura, slow at first and then more desperately, remembering how it had felt when the other girl had slipped her hand between Natasha’s thighs while they were in bed.

“You’re shaking,” Laura points out when they part, her breath brushing against Natasha’s skin.

“Just cold,” Natasha lies, though she knows Laura can see right through her, considering there’s barely any wind and it’s unseasonably warm.

“Mmmm.” Laura pulls back, her eyes glinting, and Natasha realizes how much she's  _missed_ the part of Laura that had been hidden away during the aftermath of her miscarriage. “Maybe we should take this inside.”

Natasha gets up, walking with Laura back to the house. They enter quietly, finding the living room half-dark, though Natasha can tell all the lights are on upstairs. Laura elects to head up while Natasha ducks into the pantry for a bottle of water.

“Nat came to say night!” Lila says loudly when Natasha gets to the top of the steps. Natasha feels her entire demeanor change, her heart swelling at the sight of the three-year-old sitting up in bed with an expectant smile, and finds herself smiling a little more when she realizes that Laura is sitting on her bed, tying off Lila's long hair into two neat braids. Clint’s standing outside of the room, holding a faded copy of _Little House on the Prairie_ underneath his arm.

“I was about to send out a search party,” he says wryly. Natasha catches sight of the pill bottle in his hand and she sighs; she’d chastised Clint for not taking care of himself but she hadn’t been able to ignore the truth of her own words -- his age _was_ catching up with him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And Natasha knows it would only be a matter of time before he looked at the rest of his team, her included, and started to feel like he couldn’t compete with gods and super soldiers. It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to having.

“Tasha here! No search party for Tasha!” Lila exclaims with a giggle as Natasha walks into the bedroom and Laura gets up.

“Your daddy’s just being silly. You know that I’ll _never_ miss a chance to say goodnight to my favorite girl.”

“Say night to Brownie too,” Lila instructs as Natasha leans down to hug her, and Natasha does as she’s told, kissing the wolf on the nose.

“Tomorrow we’ll see about taking you to the Y for swimming lessons, okay?”

“Swim like dolphins!”

“Yes,” Natasha says, hiding a smile. “You’re going to swim like the dolphins you see on TV.” She pulls the covers up over Lila’s chin.

“Love you, Tasha.”

Natasha smiles, pushing back strands of hair. “Love you, too.” She double checks the _Dora The Explorer_ night light in the corner and exits to find the hallway empty, Laura presumably in the bathroom or downstairs. Clint’s standing outside his own room, leaning shirtless against the door frame.

“What?” Natasha asks as she approaches him, ignoring the ache in her heart that makes her want to curl up against him and close her eyes forever.

Clint smiles. “Nothing. It’ll just never cease to amaze me how much of a mother you are to her. At some point, she might as well drop the Aunt nickname.”

“Don’t flatter yourself with the deep insight, Agent Barton,” Natasha says with a dismissive snort. “It’s just because I was there when she was born. And you and I both know that I shouldn’t be getting this close with her to begin with, because it’ll just hurt that much more when I have to go.”

Clint’s face falls slightly. “She’s not a mission, Nat. She’s my kid, and she’s your family. Stop thinking of your time with her as something that’s just a passing thing. They notice stuff like that.”

Natasha feels her throat tighten but doesn’t answer, heading back to the guest room, where she locks the door behind her for maximum privacy. She knows it’s silly, because Clint could pick any lock if he wanted to and certainly any lock in his own home, but the action makes her feel safer anyway.

She strips quickly, and finds herself wondering if Clint would ever realize how hard it was for her to see herself as someone who was truly a part of his children’s life, rather than an inserted puzzle piece. As she starts up the shower, allowing a few minutes for the hot water to stabilize, she’s surprised to find her eyes burning with frustrated tears.

Cooper was older, now. Natasha thinks she’d take less notice if she wasn’t involved so much in the day-to-day life of the farm, but she saw it in the way Clint’s son moved and acted, in the way he looked at his father and his mother. Natasha could, on occasion, almost see his brain putting pieces together as he asked questions and watched conversations; she knows Clint and Laura haven’t brought up anything regarding the complexities of their relationship or for that matter, the true nature of Clint’s job. But Natasha also knows that Cooper’s getting to a point where he’ll _have_ to ask why Natasha doesn’t live with them when she's here all the time, or why she’s not coming home. And then, why Natasha and Clint were so close and always away together, when their mom was alone.

 _And then what?_  she wonders idly. _What will they say about me?_ She thinks of the ring Laura had once offered her, a memory that seems so long ago and not that long ago at all, and realizes how much it bothers her to find that she’s still struggling with belonging. It makes her want to slam her fist into the shower wall the way she would if she were at SHIELD or even in Clint’s apartment, but she knows she can’t. She digs her fingernails into her palms instead, the tears she’s tried to keep back finally falling.

She stays in the shower too long, until the hot water turns lukewarm, until her hair is soaked through and the pads of her fingers are lumpy. When she gets out, wiping her face with a washcloth and rubbing red out of her eyes, she notices the screen of her phone is lighting up.

“I can’t believe you texted me,” Natasha says when she enters Clint and Laura’s room ten minutes later, her hair having been toweled off and her composure freshly intact. “I’m literally next door. I can hear your sex through the walls.”

“I didn’t want to get up,” Clint says from the bed, turning a page of his book. He raises his eyes and smirks. “Besides, the kids would’ve heard me walking around. Laura’s in the bathroom, but she said she wanted you to stay with us tonight. That okay?”

Natasha nods, sitting on the bed. “Of course.”

“Good.” Clint turns another page in his book. “She asked for it, so I’m guessing whatever pow wow you guys had without me tonight was helpful.”

Natasha smiles and looks down, plucking at faded strands of fabric, letting her eyes focus on the quilted patterns and the few parts of the violet-tinted covers that are darker than others -- various moments that have resulted in spilled coffee or tea, the most recent of which Natasha knows is their threesome. She lets herself smile at the realization that not only did Laura probably never really care about cleaning her bedding, it was more likely she didn’t _want_ to. Natasha raises her head, taking in the notched markings on the back of the door that she knows chronicle Cooper’s and now Lila’s rapid growth spurts, the dark penciled lines on the wall across from the bed, where Clint has started to map out the fireplace he eventually wants to build, the one Natasha knows he’s been talking about since Lila was born. There were certain things Natasha loved about the farm, things that she rarely let herself think about or reflect on, and the worn, lived-in feeling of something that felt like home was one of them.

“Stop thinking so much. It makes you age.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and picks up a pillow, chucking it at his head. Clint whimpers in mock hurt as Laura enters the room.

“I wasn’t aware I birthed another two children in the span of ten minutes.”

“You should see her during target practice,” Clint grumbles as Laura sits down, ignoring her husband. She reaches for the towel on Natasha’s head.

“Can I?”

Natasha nods as Laura removes the towel and then uses her fingers to gently untangle Natasha’s damp hair, pulling apart knots and curls.

“You know, I would’ve joined you, if you wanted.”

Natasha breathes out slowly as Laura works her hand over her head, deciding not to tell Laura about her unexpected and random breakdown. “I know you would have,” she says, leaning into Laura’s touch. “But shower sex can wait.” She looks at Laura, and then at Clint, who has rolled over onto his side and is watching the scene with a smile on his face. There’s a long silence, and no one in the room says the words _I love you_ but she hears it anyway.

“I think we’ve all done enough, for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one, I know, but rather than break it up since I'll be doing more "part 2" chapters until this fic is over (and yes there is a map/end planned out!) and because it had a lot of significant stuff, I wanted to post it the way it was written.
> 
> I'm trying to stick to a somewhat regular posting schedule as of late (2 chapters per month), even though this is still mostly write-as-I-go. And I know I keep saying it, but I truly mean it: thank you for sticking with me, whether you're a regular reader, whether you've given this a kudos or a rec somewhere, whether you've found it for the first time. It means a huge deal to me that people are enjoying this story, which has slowly spiraled into something I never expected ("additional scenes", indeed.) As always, thank you to my favorite person to call "the worst" aka [geniusorinsanity](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) for dog convos and sad headcanons and support. <3


	13. 2005

When dawn breaks and Laura finds that Clint’s slept through the rest of the night with no glaring incidents, she thinks she’s lived through the worst of it -- at least until Natasha goes to finally move him and checks on his injuries.

“Separating from the wound,” Natasha says thickly, folding the bandage back over with a wince. “He’s got an infection. Not uncommon considering the cut was so deep, but I hoped maybe we’d get lucky.” She sighs, sitting back on her heels and Laura holds her arms to her chest tightly, noticing for the first time the sweat breaking out over Clint’s face.

“So what do we do?”

Natasha moves her mouth and back forth in closed lips. “You don’t have anything here that’s not over-the-counter brand medication, do you?”

Laura shakes her head. “No. No, we don’t keep that kind of stuff here. But I can run out to the pharmacy, or I can call my parents and I can get something --”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Natasha says, waving her hand as she cuts Laura off. “I have some medication, and it’ll help. But I need to go back to get it.”

“Go back...go back to New York?” Laura asks a little hesitantly, and Natasha nods.

“Yes. It’s not going to take me that long,” she adds off what Laura knows is a worried look she can’t help. “Trust me. We don’t exactly do things the civilian way.” She smiles faintly, and Laura frowns.

“I’m beginning to realize that,” she says slowly, putting her hand against Clint’s too-warm cheek. She looks down at his wound. “Can we at least bring him upstairs?” _Before my son comes home, not to mention my mother_.

Natasha nods. “That would be ideal,” she agrees, getting up. “Help me with his boots, first.”

Clint’s still wearing most of his clothing, save for the vest of his uniform that Natasha had already removed at some point beforehand -- mostly so, Laura surmises, Natasha could get a handle on the bleeding until they got to the farm. She undoes the laces of one shoe while Natasha works on the other; Clint’s barely conscious throughout the process but together, they manage to get him into a sitting position and then up the stairs. It’s a long, painstaking adventure to move him slowly enough so that he doesn’t feel too much pain, and Laura tries not to notice how comfortable Natasha seems to be as she touches Clint’s body, reminding herself that this is what they probably do all the time when they get hurt.

The strange thing is, now that she’s met Natasha -- now that she has a name to put to a face rather than just imagining what her husband was doing in the field when he wasn’t home -- she’s not jealous of her. She’s not even jealous of Clint for creating this bond, which Laura can tell he obviously fought for. If tonight has proven anything, she thinks, it’s that she’s _glad_ her husband has someone like Natasha to keep him safe, to watch his back, someone who knows him so well she’s even comfortable handling his body without his full consent.

“You okay here?”

Laura nods, Natasha’s voice startling her out of her thoughts. “Yeah,” she says, sitting down on the bed and brushing a hand over Clint’s hair. “Don’t worry.”

Natasha’s look plainly tells her that she does worry, though Laura’s not sure whether she’s worried about Clint, or whether she’s worried about Laura’s ability to take care of him on her own. She almost asks but before she can, Natasha turns around and heads back down the stairs, and Laura hears the front door shut behind her.

Laura sighs to herself before getting up and heading to the bathroom, filling a bowl in the sink and grabbing a towel. At least if she couldn’t do anything for her husband’s pain, she could clean him up so that he wasn’t lying in their bed full of blood and dirt and sweat. She walks back into the room, dipping the towel in the lukewarm water and then sits down, gently cleaning the exposed and dirty areas around his face and neck.

“Lau…” He mumbles what sounds like her name as she continues to wipe him down, and she puts her hand on his chest, fingers splayed against his rough skin.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, trying to keep her voice calm by focusing on the fact that his breathing, though clearly labored, is steady. “You’re home now. I’m here.”

Clint’s eyes blink open slowly. “Wha’ happen’?”

Laura sighs. “You did something incredibly stupid,” she responds, unable to stop the bitterness from bleeding into her voice, and he grunts.

“Nat?”

“Is the reason you’re alive,” Laura says shortly, and though she can hide the tremor in her voice, she can’t seem to stop the tremor in her hands. “How do you feel?”

Clint groans again. “Hot.”

Laura nods. “I know. Natasha went to get you something for that. Just relax, okay?”

Clint closes his eyes and Laura finishes cleaning him up, debating whether or not to risk changing him out of his clothes. Despite being topless, his pants and socks still remained, and while Laura figures he can’t really register that discomfort in his current half-conscious state, the sight of looking at dirty, blood stained clothes is enough to send her into another panic attack.

“I’m getting you out of those,” she decides when she feels her skin start to crawl again, and Clint cracks open an eye once more.

“Good.”

Laura ignores the worried feeling settling in her stomach, reminding herself that Natasha has told her not to be concerned, that she had practically promised that her husband wasn’t going to die on her before she got back. She hooks her hands into the waistband of his uniform, undoing the half-undone belt buckle, carefully pulling his pants down to his ankles and shifting so that she can get them off his legs. Underneath the clothing, Clint’s skin is a colorful palette of fresh bruises, a display of bright splotches dotting the tanned and scarred canvas of his skin -- additional injuries, Laura suspects, from the fall he took in the house. She bites down on a choked sob as she leans over to pick up the towel again, half wondering how he managed to avoid breaking any bones.

“Don’t get upset,” Clint mutters, his words practically garbled, and Laura finds that she wants to scream and kiss him at the same time. Her mood is broken by the shrill ring of her cell phone, and she composes herself before reaching for the device, staring at the text on the screen.

_Laura, just letting u know we’ll be by later this afternoon to bring Cooper back home. Dad wanted to take him for a walk, hope that’s ok. Love u._

Laura breathes a sigh of relief and quickly texts back an affirmative response before shoving the phone back into her pocket.

“I can’t be upset, I’m too angry,” she says when she’s finished wiping down his legs, removing most of the dirt and sweat, trying to ignore how the bruises and angry red skin seem even more stark. She gets up and walks to the other side of the bed, curling up next to him.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He asks the question as the bed dips underneath both of their weight and Laura reaches for his face, shaking fingers touching still-burning skin.

“Yes,” Laura says. “You’re not sick. You’re _hurt_. And I’ve just spent the past twelve hours alternating between having a panic attack and wanting to kill you, so I’m staying here.” She can feel her heart starting to race again but puts her hand over his own heart, calming herself with the steady beat as his chest rises and falls under the weight of her palm. She doesn’t remember her eyes closing and doesn’t even realize she’s fallen asleep until she’s jerked awake by noises in the bedroom. She sits up in a panic; Clint’s completely out next to her and a thin figure is standing on the other side of the bed, crouched towards the floor.

“Natasha?” Laura gets up fully, trying to rouse herself and get her bearings at the same time. “When did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago. I told you, I work fast,” she says as she unpacks her bag, taking out a few bottles. Laura shakes her head.

“Are you sure you guys don’t time travel or anything?”

Natasha grins. “That would be helpful, wouldn’t it? No, I just know who to call when there’s an emergency. And you wouldn’t believe how fast quinjets go,” she adds as she straightens. “Anyway, here. These are just general antibiotics, but they’re strong. And the sooner we start him on these, the sooner we can get his infection down. Get him to sit up and he can take some.”

Laura nods and walks around to the other side of the bed, leaning over and kissing his forehead. “Hey, Clint.” She runs a hand through his hair. “I need you to work with me, okay? Natasha has some pills for you, but I need your help. Can you help me?”

He blinks awake slowly, his eyes still heavy and lidded, but Laura strokes his face and keeps murmuring gently until she finds focus in them, until he nods, letting his head fall forward enough that Laura feels comfortable attempting to try and shove both pills and water down his throat. Laura climbs back into bed and helps him sit up so that he’s backed against the headboard, then cradles him upright by holding his head against her chest while Natasha gently forces the pills into his mouth.

“Come on...I’m here, you can do this for me,” Laura whispers as Natasha shoves a glass of water between his lips. Laura blocks out everything else around her and keeps murmuring, and tries not to have another heart attack over the fear that Clint will cough the pills back up, or worse. Once Natasha’s satisfied that he’s sufficiently swallowed with no issues, she helps Laura lower him back to the pillow.

“Good thinking,” Natasha says, looking at the towel on the floor as Laura continues to soothe him. “Usually, I’d just stick him in the shower to bring down his fever, but given where his wound is that wasn’t going to be an option.”

Laura nods, her throat closing up as she runs what have become dirty fingers through Clint’s matted hair. She kisses him again before she gets off the bed.

“Would you...you’re going to stay, aren’t you?” She finds herself suddenly worried that Natasha’s going to run out again for whatever reason, though Laura knows she probably wouldn’t leave Clint alone with his injuries.

“I am,” Natasha says, looking a little surprised, as if she finds it hard to believe that after all of this, Laura thinks that Natasha would just _leave_. Laura lets out a breath.

“Coffee?”

Natasha hesitates, then nods back. “Sure. Milk, if you have it.”

Laura walks out of the bedroom, letting Natasha follow. “I’m not sure what you like,” she says, waving a hand around as she heads down the stairs. “But I have lots of things for breakfast, if you’re hungry. Cereal. Eggs. I can also make you something on the stove, an omelette or a pancake or --”

“Cereal is fine,” Natasha interrupts from behind her as they both enter the kitchen. “I’m not really big on breakfasts.”

“Oh. Right.” Laura washes her hands quickly in the sink and then pours still-warm coffee into a mug from the carafe. “With your work and all, probably.”

“No, just in general,” Natasha says with a shrug, taking the mug from Laura’s hand and raising an eyebrow when she sees what’s written on the side. “WORLD’S BEST ARCHER,” she reads out loud before snorting quietly, sending ripples across the top of the liquid. “ _Really_?”

“It was a gift,” Laura defends as she grabs a bowl and a box of cereal from the cupboard. “Cooper picked it out for Father’s Day. He was supposed to take it to work with him, but he…” She stops, suddenly unable to get the words out. “Well, he wanted to keep it here instead, because he was on the go so much. He was afraid he would lose it.” She feels Natasha’s eyes tracking her as she pours her own coffee and sits down at the table.

“He was right to leave it here,” Natasha agrees. “We don’t get too much time to sit around, except when we’re writing reports. Sometimes we eat on the run, and sometimes, we don’t eat at all.”

Laura regards the other girl carefully. “Sounds like you have all this stuff down pretty well.”

“You have to,” Natasha says noncommittally, digging into her breakfast. “It’s part of the job. Knowing when to eat and when to sleep are just part of the deal.”

Laura bites down on her lip, letting her eyes stray to the fridge. “I forgot to ask, do you want bananas? Or any kind of fruit for your cereal?” She uncrosses her legs and stands up. “I can get you orange juice, also, I can’t believe I didn’t offer it.”

“Laura.” Natasha’s voice is firm but not so firm that she sounds aggressive. “ _Stop_.”

Laura does stop, for reasons she can’t figure out, considering she’s never been a fan of being told what to do. She sits back down, clutching her mug tighter, avoiding Natasha’s gaze.

“Laura,” Natasha repeats, but her voice is more gentle than Laura expects. “You haven’t slept. Aside from whatever sleep you got when I found you passed out on the bed.”

Laura considers lying, but she soon realizes lying to a SHIELD agent is probably a dumb idea. Laura also figures she’s too exhausted and strung out to not give herself away.

“No,” she admits quietly, and Natasha sighs.

“And this is how you deal. Overcompensating. Keeping busy.” She pauses. “No wonder this house is so neat.”

“It’s not an OCD thing,” Laura says sharply, and Natasha looks intrigued.

“I didn’t say it was,” she replies, sounding mildly amused about Laura’s defensiveness.

“Anyway, I stayed up once for two days in college during final exams,” Laura continues. “And I aced them. Stayed up with Clint and pulled an all-nighter with him at his bar back in the day. _And_ when he came home with a panic attack after he first started at SHIELD. I think I can handle taking care of your breakfast and my son and my husband.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You probably can. But in our line of work, there’s a difference between being competent, and recognizing when to give yourself a breather -- recognizing when to step back and regroup. In case you couldn’t tell, your husband is terrible at it. I thought it was just because of his personality, but I’m beginning to suspect I know where he gets it,” she adds with a small smirk. Laura swallows.

“I’m afraid…”

“You’re afraid that if you let yourself stop, you won’t be able to keep it together,” Natasha finishes, crossing her arms, her breakfast forgotten. Laura takes a breath, not wanting to admit the truth.

“My parents are bringing my son home this afternoon,” she says instead, a throbbing headache taking up residence somewhere in her brain. “I can’t let them know that I’m upset, or that Clint is hurt like this.”

Natasha reaches over and puts her hand on Laura’s palm. “So we’ll set an alarm,” she says, finding Laura’s eyes. “I’ll set two alarms, even. And I’ll stay up and make sure you’re awake and ready when you have to deal with the world.”

Laura stares back at Natasha, trying to stop exhausted tears of relief from prickling at the corner of her eyes.

“You will?”

“Yes,” Natasha says resolutely. “I will. Believe me, I’m good at stuff like that. What do you think happens when one of us has to take watch?”

Laura suddenly can’t seem to stop herself from shaking, the adrenaline that has been coursing through her body finally taking its toll. She instantly feels like she could sleep for years, even though between not knowing exactly what Natasha would do alone in her house and Clint’s injuries, she doesn’t want to.

“Come to the couch,” Natasha says as she helps Laura get up, circling an arm around her shoulder. Laura lets Natasha guide her to the overstuffed sofa where she stretches out, putting her head on the pillow. The moment she closes her eyes she feels relieved, like she can allow herself to rest for the first time with no consequences.

She’s vaguely aware of Natasha pulling a blanket over her and smoothing back her hair, and it’s the last thing she remembers before she drifts off into unconsciousness.

 

***

 

A little less than one week after Clint’s infection has abated enough to warrant him getting out of bed, Natasha’s off on one of her random disappearance benders and Laura’s teaching Cooper how to weed the garden when a loud crash from inside the house catches her attention through the open window.

“What...” Laura presses her lips together, picking up Cooper and ignoring the multiple questions of “what happened, mommy?” while also ignoring the mud that drips from his clothes. She opens the door one handed and when she walks inside, she can see Clint standing in the kitchen, the cupboard door open above his head. As she gets closer, she spies the mess scattered around the floor, a jumble of Cooper’s plastic plates and a few of her own oversized mixing bowls. Laura quickly deposits Cooper in the living room amongst his toys, forgetting about his dirty clothes.

“Clint!”

He looks up guiltily from where he’s standing -- no, _slouching_ , Laura realizes, because he’s still trying to work up the strength to stand on his full weight -- a torn out recipe clutched in his right hand. “Clint, what the _hell_ are you doing?”

“Cooking,” Clint says simply, as if that explains it. Laura frowns.

“You can barely stand.”

“Yeah, well…” Clint shrugs, though the movement looks uncomfortable. “I can _lean_.”

“Stop it,” Laura says angrily. “You’re going to tear your stitches.”

“Nah,” Clint says brashly, but Laura notices he looks more pale than usual. “Nat’s good at her work. Hasn’t failed me yet.”

“I’m serious,” Laura says, pointing to the kitchen chair as a thin sheen of sweat starts to appear on his face, wetting the start of the beard that he’s grown. “Sit down _right now_. I can’t do this again.”

Clint looks like he wants to protest but moves slowly to the table. Laura doesn’t miss the shallowness of his breathing, though she does notice that as he sits down, taking the pressure off his feet, the color starts to come back to his face.

“Thank you,” she says, walking over and sitting down next to him, putting a hand on his arm. It’s only then that she realizes her fingers are shaking, along with the rest of her.

“Sorry,” Clint mutters and Laura finds herself unable to stop the hitched sob that escapes from her throat.

“Don’t be so stupid,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “I almost just lost you.”

Clint nods. “I know,” he mumbles. “I don’t...it’s just...you and Nat have been going crazy trying to take care of me. And now Nat’s gone again for who knows how long, and...and I just hate feeling useless.”

“You’re hurt,” Laura says gently, rubbing her finger over his knuckles. “You don’t _need_ to feel guilty about being useless.” She pauses. “Besides, Natasha always comes back, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, though he sounds uncertain. “But even if I’m hurt…” He trails off as Laura raises an eyebrow.

“Do I want to know?”

Clint chuckles quietly, bowing his head. “No, not really.”

“I thought so.” Laura gets up, kissing the top of his head, ignoring the anxiety that his words have stirred up in her. “Here’s an idea: _enjoy_ not doing anything for a little bit. Spend some time with your son. Read a book, pick up a new hobby that doesn’t involve running around or breaking things in my kitchen. Or trying to give me a heart attack.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll be forced to shave you again, and I know you hate that even more than you hate being useless around the house.”

Clint tries to smile. “I was going to make you macaroni and cheese.”

“Then _I_ will make us macaroni and cheese,” Laura says. “And _you_ will spend some time with your son.” She holds out her hand and Clint takes it, allowing her to help him up and over to the living room.

“Come on, Coop -- let’s get you changed and then you’re going to sit with daddy for a little while.”

“I wanna watch movies!”

“I know you do,” Laura says as she picks him up from the floor, balancing him on one hip. “And you will, after you stop looking like you crawled out of a hole.”

Cooper giggles at that and Laura takes advantage of the good mood, quickly changing him into cleaner clothes before she carries him back downstairs.

“Remember the rules about daddy? About where to touch him?”

Cooper looks a little confused, but then nods slowly. “Don’t touch. Daddy has dark thing.”

“Close enough,” Clint mutters under his breath, scrolling through their On Demand movies. Laura stands back, taking in the moment, and then starts to clean up the mess in the kitchen. When she finishes boiling water sometime later, she peeks back into the room to find he’s put on _Chicken Little._ Cooper’s curled up against Clint’s good side, a chubby thumb sticking out of his mouth, and Clint’s hand is resting gently on his back.

Laura stands at the entryway of the kitchen, taking in the sight, and files the memory away for the days when she knows she needs to be reminded of what she has to be grateful for.

 

***

 

Laura tries not to be concerned about the fact that Natasha seems to come and go as she pleases, given what Clint’s told her about his partner’s habits. But it’s still a little jarring to wake up and find Natasha sitting at the kitchen table, or to be on the phone with another friend, only to be startled when the front door opens randomly. It’s even more disconcerting when Natasha shows up at places inside the house, like when she walks in on Laura cleaning Cooper’s room, perching on the edge of his bed without actually announcing herself.

“One time, he tore out his own stitches,” she says conversationally, pulling on a long red curl. Laura’s head snaps up.

“What?”

Natasha shrugs, as if she’s just told Laura what time it is. “We were on the run from some dangerous people, and the stitches that he had given himself earlier that day were coming loose. It was either act fast while we had a chance to breathe, or bleed out again when we didn’t know how long it would take to get help.” She looks up over the mug of coffee she’s holding, a casual voice and look that doesn’t match the words coming out of her mouth. “He tore the stitches out and then used the staple gun I had pilfered to close the wound again. Without anesthetics.”

Laura sucks in a breath, feeling dizzy, and drops the toy she’s been holding onto the floor. “Clint did that?”

“Threw up in the Paris river, too,” Natasha continues. “That was because of some strange drugs, though we were able to pass it off as inebriation thanks to the time of day. Oh, and then there was the time --”

“Stop,” Laura says sharply, cutting her off. “Just...stop. What are you trying to do? Tell me about all the terrible things my husband has done to himself that I don’t know about?”

“Yes. There’s a lot you don’t know,” Natasha says, her gaze flitting towards the abandoned stuffed bird lying on its side. “But I don’t think you’re ready to hear those stories right now.”

Laura shakes her head, sinking down onto the bed next to Natasha. “I’m not. I can’t even think about how he was when you brought him to me. He...he needed…”

“Yeah, he needed a hospital,” Natasha agrees with a nod. “Probably better meds, and IVs, and people who are better at stitching than I am -- though, I have to say, I’m pretty damn proud of my work.” She stops, her voice turning serious. “That’s the thing with us, though. With this job. Sometimes, you don’t get those luxuries. Sometimes you just have to...make do.”

“And what happens then?” Laura asks slowly, knowing she’s asking a question she doesn’t want to know the answer to. “What happens when you _can’t_ make do?”

Natasha’s quiet for a long time. “I see why Clint doesn’t want to involve you in this life,” she says finally, looking sideways at Laura, who feels her jaw clench in response.

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

If the words and tone have annoyed her, Clint’s partner makes no show of it. “It means that he’s right. You do worry too much.”

“I worry --” Laura’s temper rises unnaturally as Natasha’s words settle into her brain. “I _worry_ because my husband, the man I _love_ , he’s out there every day, flinging himself selflessly into falling apart houses and getting caught in firefights. I worry because I don’t even know why or when any of it is happening. I’m not a housewife or a waif. I don’t sit around crying for him when he’s not here like some depressive maniac. I have friends and I have family and I am _okay_ with this,” Laura says angrily. “But then he comes home with scars and stitches and concussions, and sometimes he doesn’t want to tell me things that I hear on the news, so _yes_ , I _worry_.” She can practically feel herself coming apart, unraveling at the seams, and it takes her completely by surprise when Natasha reaches out, one hand closing over Laura’s shoulder. Laura will wonder later if the resulting vulnerability comes from the fact that she just doesn’t want to fight her emotions, or if it comes from the fact that someone who _isn’t_ Clint or her own child is offering solace that she’s so desperately realized she needs. But Natasha’s touch is enough to cause her to fall forward into the other girl’s outstretched arms, and it’s only when she stops crying that she realizes Natasha’s been holding her firmly, stroking her hair in the same gentle way Laura’s mother might comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Laura says as she pulls back, suddenly feeling foolish. “I normally -- I don’t --”

“I know you don’t,” Natasha interrupts quietly. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough week. This kind of life would be tough on anyone...not to mention how he came home.”

Laura blinks back more tears. “Thank you,” she says, getting up and picking up Cooper’s stuffed bird again. “I think...I think I’m going to go take a walk.”

Natasha nods, sitting back on the bed. “Laura.”

When Laura turns, she finds Natasha smiling sadly.

“Don’t think that you can’t let him see you like this sometimes. I know how you have to be around other people, but trust me. It’s okay to not be as strong as you think you are.”

There’s something hidden in Natasha’s expression that makes Laura think she wants to say so much more, if she could only figure out how.

 

***

 

Later that night, after Laura puts Cooper to bed, she walks in on Natasha sipping reheated coffee and gathering stray papers that she recognizes as Cooper’s drawings.

“You know, I could make you a fresh cup,” Laura says as a way of announcing herself, and Natasha looks up with a small smile.

“It’s okay. I kind of like it this way...it’s a little different than what I’m used to.”

“Let me guess -- you’re used to heating up hot water in the middle of the arctic while setting your leg using nothing but plywood and a staple gun,” Laura says warily, and Natasha actually laughs.

“Not everything is life or death, Laura.” She sits down on the worn couch, the one Laura had taken from her parents that she knows needs to be reupholstered, and puts her hand down as if she’s giving Laura an invitation of sorts.

“I never thanked you,” Laura says finally, sitting down. “For what you did when my son was sick. I know you were the one Clint called.”

Natasha looks a little surprised, but shrugs. “It was nothing,” she responds. “He needed my help, and I was able to give it to him. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how important his son was.”

Laura twists her fingers together. “I also wanted to apologize,” she continues. “I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier. I know this isn’t your fault. All you did was keep him safe, and I’m grateful for that.”

“You had a right to be angry,” Natasha says, her fingers picking at the threads of fabric on the couch. Laura watches her for a moment and then finds herself sighing quietly.

“We brought this home when Cooper was born. My parents gave it to us. Clint told me a few months ago that he’d fix it.” She gestures to the armrest of the couch. “One of his many promises, before he left for another thing that he couldn’t get away from. I think he forgot about it, but I don’t want to remind him. I like it unfinished.” She clears her throat. “It reminds me that there’s something for him to come back to.”

Natasha meets Laura’s eyes finally, and Laura thinks that she looks a little sad. “He loves you, you know. A lot. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and the way he talks about you...it sometimes makes me crazy.” She pauses to move her foot over a creaky floorboard, tapping it with her toe, the sound vibrating throughout the otherwise quiet room.

“What does he talk about?” Laura asks tentatively, pulling her legs up. “With you?”

“With me?” Natasha’s face suddenly settles into an easy, content grin. “It depends. Like I said, I can’t get him to shut up about the proposal. He talks a lot about the day he met you. He talks a lot about Cooper, now that he has him. He tells me stories about the farm.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Oh.” Natasha shifts the mug to her other hand, curling a little closer to Laura. “Things like how nice the sunset is. How it’s easy to go into town, how no one knows who you are and you don’t have to worry about being shot at or something.” She smirks in a way that Laura’s starting to recognize as Natasha letting down her guard.

“Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice,” Laura admits. “Allowing him to go away. He wanted to, I know that, and I would never stop him from doing something that he wanted to do. But…”

“I could be selfish and say yes, it was a good decision,” Natasha interrupts, tucking hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Because I sure as hell know that I wouldn’t be here right now, if it wasn’t for him. But I don’t think that’s what you want to hear.”

“No,” Laura says, her heart growing three sizes because she suddenly sees it: the girl that Clint has taken under his wing, the one who knows how to take care of herself but also sometimes needs to be shown a little compassion and love. She reaches over and places her hand on Natasha’s palm. “That’s exactly what I need to hear.”

Natasha smiles. “Well.” She tosses her head back and takes another sip of coffee. “It’s nice to hear it from someone else, for once. Usually, it’s him who’s reminding me that I’m worth something,” she adds off of Laura’s confused glance. “He’s my partner. And it’s not a job for me to make sure he’s okay, it’s a responsibility. I’d do anything to make sure he came home.”

“I know,” Laura says, surprising herself with how easily she feels like she can talk to Natasha. “And I can’t tell you what that means to me. But I also know that I haven’t made it easy on you, asking questions and being worried.” She thinks of how Natasha had practically kicked down the door with Clint’s body in her arms, how their first meeting had been marred by blood and anxiety and an angry storm that spiraled into her content, simple life. “You weren’t supposed to be brought here like this.”

Natasha blinks a few times. “And how was I supposed to be brought here?”

Laura squeezes her hand gently. “As a friend,” she says softly. “As someone that should’ve been introduced to me over tea, or maybe lunch.”

Natasha laughs quietly and Laura notices a faint blush spreading over her cheeks, as well as another emotion that she can’t quite read. “I know you don’t know that much about me, Laura. But I don’t exactly come into people’s lives like that.”

“In this place, you do,” Laura responds firmly. “You’re right, Natasha. I don’t know much about you. But you saved my husband. You took care of me. And that’s all that matters.”

Natasha looks down again, brushing her thumb against Laura’s skin, as if she’s not quite sure how to react. Laura knows that Clint hasn’t told her much of anything about Natasha, save for the fact that she came from someplace Clint never liked to talk about, and that she was some kind of former assassin. But Laura’s also starting to wonder if this is the first time in a long time -- or possibly ever -- that someone has treated her like a normal person.

“I have some baking to do tomorrow,” Laura says finally, breaking the silence. “I always try to bake bread on Sundays. But I think I’m due for a trip into town with Cooper, if you’d like to come along with me. It might help you get to know him better.” She smiles encouragingly at Natasha, who nods, despite looking a little uncomfortable.

“That would be nice,” she responds carefully, taking another drink, and Laura tries not to notice how Natasha looks like she’s trying not to let herself break apart.

 

***

 

A week or so later, Clint and Natasha are sitting in the living room together and folding lumpy balls of play dough into shapes that resemble animals (or in Clint’s case, arrows.)

“If anyone at SHIELD knew that I was sitting in a farmhouse playing with toys, I think they’d send me back to Russia,” Natasha says as she grabs a cookie cutter in the shape of a star, pressing it into red dough. Clint holds back a laugh.

“What, you’re worried that you’re getting too soft? If you want, I can bring you along to his playgroup sessions. You’d be surrounded by a whole bunch of children and suburban moms.”

“Spare me,” Natasha says dryly, but Clint detects an amused tone trying to break through the sarcastic facade. “And watch your child.”

“Huh?” Clint creases his brow and then glances over at Cooper who is examining a ball of purple. “Hey -- Coop, no!” He grabs for the piece of play dough that’s making its way into Cooper’s mouth and Cooper giggles, unaware of his misdemeanor.

“Eat like daddy!”

“Except daddy doesn’t eat play dough,” Clint says gently, prying the dough out of Cooper’s hands. He’s distracted by Natasha’s snort of laughter.

“If I wasn’t sold on the fact he was your son from the way he looks, that just sealed the deal,” she says, sitting back on her hands. Clint ignores her words.

“Hey, Coop. Can you show Natasha what you like to do after we play together?”

Cooper looks up and Clint nods encouragingly, gesturing towards Natasha. It had been hard for Natasha to integrate herself into their daily life with the way she had been taking off and coming back, but Clint had been determined to try to forge some kind of bond with her and Cooper that would help Natasha become more comfortable around his house. Natasha’s face takes on a look that Clint can only classify as astonishment as she watches Cooper obediently walk forward on shaky toddler legs, before he deposits himself into Natasha’s lap.

“Go sleep!” Cooper says after a moment, curling up on Natasha’s legs and Clint catches her eye.

“We try to do naps after playtime,” he explains. “He’s in a clingy stage right now, and sometimes he doesn’t want to be in his room alone. So we sit with him and tell him to go to sleep in our laps, and then we’ll bring him upstairs after he falls asleep.”

Natasha takes a deep breath and brushes hair out of her eyes. “I thought you said he was still shy,” she says as Cooper stretches out over her body.

“He is,” Clint says truthfully, thinking it’s probably not the right time to tell Natasha that Cooper had asked for her when he woke up. The last thing he wanted to do was push too much domesticity on Natasha when he knew there were more important things he should be worrying about, like making sure Laura trusted her the same way Clint did.

“Clint?” There’s a pause and then Laura walks into the room, brandishing her cell phone. “Addy called. She wants me to look at some papers for school, and I need to stop at the bank anyway.” She eyes Cooper, who is still curled up in Natasha’s lap. “I’ll take Coop and get him out of the house for a bit...do you think that you can handle things while I’m gone?”

“I can,” Natasha says without looking up and Clint nods slowly. Laura sighs.

“Well, if two SHIELD agents are watching my home, there’s absolutely no way I’m going to come back to chaos, right?”

Clint glances over at Natasha, who doesn’t answer, and Laura closes her eyes.

“Forget it. Clint, please make sure you take out the pot roast so it has time to defrost before dinner.”

“Don’t worry,” Clint says easily. “I may not be fully mobile, but I know how to open the fridge without killing myself.”

Laura’s response to that is both an eye roll and a head shake. “Come on, Coop,” she says as she leans over to pick him up. “No naptime right now. We’re going to go on an adventure to the store.” She carries him upstairs and by the time she walks back down roughly ten minutes later, Clint and Natasha have cleaned up most of the floor and are sitting on the couch together.

“Bye daddy!” Cooper practically yells after Laura leans over to let Clint kiss his son, picking up her purse from one of the big chairs. Clint relaxes as the door closes, and Natasha bends over his body.

“God, you need a shave,” she says, rubbing the back of her hand against his cheek. “When was the last time you used a razor?”

“A week ago,” Clint admits, scrunching up his nose. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s terrible,” Natasha remarks. “And I’m five seconds away from dragging you upstairs and taking care of this monstrosity myself.”

“I’ll do it when Laura gets home,” he grumbles a little too quickly. “Way to make an injured guy feel bad, Nat.”

Natasha snorts. “Speaking of injured guys, you seem to be doing better.”

Clint sighs. “I guess.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that.” Natasha puts her hands out, tapping her fingers one by one. “You’re not bleeding to death, you’re not in danger of slipping into a coma, your fever’s gone, and you can stand without killing yourself. Kind of.”

“In other words, this isn’t Johannesburg,” Clint says with a small grin, and Natasha groans.

“No. It’s clearly not.” She pauses. “Laura worries about you, you know.”

“Of course I know.” Clint grunts. “I’m pretty sure she’s been worried about me since before I left for SHIELD. You think this stuff happening makes it any better?”

“Obviously not,” Natasha says pointedly. “But it must be hard, right? Being away from your wife and kid all the time?”

Clint hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “It is. I feel like I missed a lot. I was here for his birth and I got a lot of time off, and I got lucky that I saw most of his firsts. It’s not like he never knew who I was. But, you know...he was my little boy, and sometimes I feel like I didn’t see him grow at all.”

Natasha squeezes his hand. “He’s a good kid,” she says quietly, and Clint snorts out a laugh.

“He was a terrible baby, though. Cried all the time, he couldn’t calm down for the life of him, and he never let us sleep more than a few hours, no matter what we did.”

“Well.” Natasha nudges him. “No one’s perfect, right?”

Clint smiles at the memory of Cooper’s infancy, the nights that became a little more manageable every time the small baby fell asleep in his arms. “Each time I came back from SHIELD, when I first left, he was a little bigger, and he did a little more that he didn’t do before. I saw the moments, but I missed a lot of the things that went into those moments happening. Not a lot of people understand how that feels.”

“But people understand making a sacrifice for their family,” Natasha says. “That’s what SHIELD seems to be about. You’re not the only person in this organization with a wife and child, Clint.”

“Yeah, but...I dunno, Nat. I think I’m the only one who got into this mess after already _having_ a stable life.” He closes his eyes as her face takes on a curious look. “She gave me the choice, you know. When I was recruited. Never pushed me into anything...she could’ve, I guess, but that was never Laura.” He opens his eyes, his mouth lifting in a half a smile. “She just asked me if I was sure. Trusted that I had a hunch this was right for me. She had just gotten pregnant when Fury came to recruit me, and she _still_ let me choose for myself. She thought I could do this.”

“Well, she was right,” Natasha says, putting her head on his shoulder. “Wasn’t she?”

“I guess,” agrees Clint. “I didn’t expect it would end up like this, though -- secrecy and danger and all of that. Lying and having to tell her that I kill people for a living. I thought I was just being recruited to go on some spy missions with cool gear.”

“You don’t kill people _all_ the time,” Natasha points out, but she doesn’t say anything else and Clint wonders if she’s thinking about the things he had said to _her_ when he first brought her in, if she’s thinking about the fact that she knows she never thought it would end up like this, either.

“Have you ever considered telling her about things?” Natasha asks. “Not hiding your injuries? Being honest about what we do, where we go, and how dangerous things are?”

Clint pushes his lips into a sad smile. “She got mad at me last year, when I came home after sparring with you one too many times. She didn’t like that I was getting hurt, and she wanted me to tell her what was going on. I told her a little bit, but…”

“But?” Natasha prompts, lifting her head and staring at him expectantly.

“But, it’s hard to be open sometimes,” he finishes. “She gets it, but she doesn’t. To her, the bruises that you give me are abuse, not consensual. Being awake for 24 hours is an anomaly, not standard. She’s constantly worried…”

“And she’d be less worried if you were _honest_ with her,” Natasha breaks in, curling one hand around his arm. “The same way I was with you.”

Clint rubs a hand over his eyebrows, letting his palm settle on his nose before he drags it down his face. “That’s not a fair argument. It took you forever to be honest with me, Nat.”

“But I was,” she reminds him. “Once I felt comfortable, at least.”

Clint sighs and when he looks over, he notices Natasha is studying the couch cushion a little too intently.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

Natasha stiffens immediately at his words. “Who said I was thinking about going?” she asks smoothly, and Clint doesn’t bother to remind her that she’s been technically coming and going for weeks.

“You did.” He motions towards her. “Don’t think I can’t read you by now.”

Natasha shakes her head slowly. “I do need to go,” she hedges. “I can’t stay. I’ve already lost time.”

“Lost time for _what_?” Clint asks, more than a little confused. “We got clearance after my injury. We have no other missions right now, so god knows where you’ve been disappearing to all this time.”

Natasha hesitates. “Following leads,” she admits and Clint eyes her.

“Leads?”

“Stuff that SHIELD’s been sending me. Stuff about Oksana.”

Clint’s brow furrows. “Oksana? From the Red Room? The girl who --”

“Yes, the girl who trained me. And who, for lack of better word, tortured me,” Natasha says impatiently. “According to SHIELD intel, she was found wandering around New York, slipping in and out between the borders of the East Coast. I decided that I’m going to find her.”

 _And then I’m going to kill her._ The words aren't said out loud but Clint knows exactly what she means. He exhales slowly, so as not to exacerbate his injuries that are still slow to heal. “That’s why you’ve been sneaking off. You told me it was because you had things to take care of, since I couldn’t be in the field with you for awhile.”

“I didn’t lie,” Natasha says but Clint can detect the regret in her voice, and he presses his lips together.

“Don’t do this, Nat.”

Natasha looks over at him in annoyance. “Clint, I can’t stay here.”

“Right, so you’re using my injury as an excuse to go off and repent, because you know I can’t help you or stop you,” he says a little bitterly. Natasha jerks away from him.

“You couldn’t have helped me anyway!” She explodes hotly. “This is my life, Clint. This my life the same way Laura and Cooper are yours. I don’t show up and try to tell you how to raise your kid or screw your wife.”

“Jesus,” Clint mutters, before raising his voice. “You really want to play that game, Nat? Then admit that this isn’t about Oksana. Or about your life. It’s about the fact that you don’t trust yourself to stay here, or trust yourself to be around my kid knowing that a part of your past is creeping around the world and could probably show up and kill us all if she wanted to.”

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head as soon as Natasha gets up off the couch, beelining towards the kitchen.

“We don’t keep the alcohol in there,” Clint calls out, because he knows exactly what she’s going for. A few seconds later, the cupboard slams and Natasha emerges with a full bottle of vodka.

“You don’t, I do,” Natasha says curtly. Clint has half a mind to start screaming about how she apparently embedded alcohol in the house without telling him, especially knowing Cooper’s toddler tendencies and the fact that not every part of the kitchen was secured. But he recognizes the wild look in her eyes that’s Natasha teetering on an edge, and he forces himself to pick his battles.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Natasha doesn’t answer and tips the vodka back, taking a long swig. “You can’t tell me what to do,” she says when she comes up for air, and Clint nods.

“I know.”

“And you can be stupid about it all you want, but Oksana _will_ find me. She _will_ come for me. The last thing I expected to have to deal with is the worry that she’s going to come after me and put a hit on this family.”

Clint throws up his hands. “So, what? You’re going to find her and kill her? Put more blood on your ledger and then come back and handwave the job to Fury and say everything’s okay? I thought we were past all that.”

Natasha’s moved to the entryway of the kitchen, leaving the bottle of alcohol on the table, and she laughs with an expression that Clint’s pretty sure means _fuck you_. “Stop being dumb,” she spits. “You know that I’m never going to be free of my past, Clint. Ever. No matter how many cookies I make or how many errands I run.”

Clint runs his tongue over his teeth because he knows she’s right, that there _will_ be parts of Natasha’s past that will follow her around forever. But he also knows that one day, those things probably won’t be as prominent.

“Can you promise me that you’ll do me a favor?”

Natasha looks confused at Clint’s change of tone, and also at his question. “Yes,” she says cautiously, moving back to the couch.

“When you want to go, just go. Don’t tell me when you’re leaving. I’d rather not know.”

Natasha gives him a scathing look. “Clint. That’s just dumb. You’re going to be able to figure it out, anyway.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he responds instantly, because she’s right, but he doesn’t care. “Just don’t tell me. Even if I do know, even if I can sense it, don’t tell me you’re planning on leaving when you leave for real. Just go, and be safe, and find me when everything’s okay again. Deal?”

Natasha swallows in the silence that follows, and then hesitantly takes his hand. “Okay,” she whispers, and he detects something in her voice that sounds like surrender. “Deal.”

 

***

 

Clint tells himself that he’s not going to worry about Natasha or track her, and to distract himself from doing so, he attempts to fill his days by spending time with Cooper and by helping Laura around the house. He fails miserably at his resolution two weeks after Natasha’s left for good, and while he tries to blame it on the fact that he’s feeling jumpy about not having worked in so long, he knows that’s a lie. Clint tries to keep his actions mostly hidden, waiting until Laura’s in bed or out with Cooper before opening his SHIELD-issued laptop and loading some programs, searching facial recognitions and aliases everywhere from Eastern Europe to California. But when his phone beeps in the middle of the night with another completed (and failed) search, and when Laura finds him distractedly slicing a banana into minuscule pieces during breakfast, he knows he can’t keep his anxiety hidden.

“You’re worried about her,” Laura asserts one day while they’re out to lunch and she’s cutting up pieces of pizza for Cooper. Clint’s feeling better enough to acclimate back into the world and he knows he could and should be back at work, but Fury had been firm about holding off on his return until he could pass the multiple official tests mandated by SHIELD Medical. He hadn’t bothered to argue against that, given the fact that Natasha was still off doing God knows what in God knows where, and the fact that it meant he got to stay at home longer.

“I can’t not be,” Clint admits as he watches his wife place small bites of cheese pizza onto his son’s plate.

“Daddy, pizza!”

“Pizza!” Clint exclaims happily, snapping into dad mode almost immediately. “Like your favorite turtles eat, right?”

Cooper giggles, tiny fingers digging into his food as chubby legs swing against the booster seat. “Pizza turtles!”

“You _love_ your pizza turtles,” Laura says as she pushes down Cooper’s hair, before turning back to Clint with concerned eyes.

“I’m not worried because she’s going to get herself hurt,” Clint explains, although he knows the words are a lie. “I’m just worried because I don’t know where she is right now.”

“I thought that was common for your partnership,” Laura comments as she picks up her own pizza, throwing a glance towards Cooper, and the food that’s ending up more on the table than in his mouth.

“It is,” Clint says. “But she _always_ checks in. And I always know what she’s doing, where she’s going...I know I can always go after her, if I need to,” he finishes guiltily, though he knows Laura probably won’t want to hear the words. Sure enough, her face changes almost instantly, and she puts down her food.

“I don’t -- look, I mean, I’m not saying I would go after her _immediately_ ,” Clint backpedals, as Laura raises an eyebrow and reaches for a napkin to wipe Cooper’s sauce-covered face. “But she’s my partner. This is --”

“Your responsibility, not a job,” Laura finishes as she kisses Cooper on the cheek, throwing a wadded up napkin onto her tray. “You guys seem to have quite the partnership.”

Clint huffs out a laugh as he takes another bite of food.

“Daddy has pizza turtles!”

“Daddy _does_ have pizza turtles,” Clint says, suddenly glad for the distraction. “Hey, what sound does a pizza turtle make?”

Cooper makes a forced growling noise that causes Laura to snort out half of the iced tea she’s started to sip and Clint can’t help but laugh, even as other restaurant patrons stare in their direction.

“He definitely got that from you,” Laura says once she recovers. “No child of mine would ever make that noise.”

“Thanks for that,” Clint mutters, as Cooper tries to focus on another piece of his food. “It’s good to be home, though. To really be home.”

Laura smiles. “Natasha said you talk a lot about being home, when you’re away.”

Clint looks at his son, who is trying to figure out which piece of pizza he wants to put into his mouth next. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Probably too much. It kind of started out as a way to help her, I guess. I’d talk about things that were normal, not SHIELD related, like my life here and what we do on weekends. Just to show her that there was a real component to me, that I wasn’t all military. But the more I talked, I think I found that I missed things more than I realized. Hence the never shutting up.”

Laura nods and Clint knows she doesn’t say what she probably wants to say -- _you can come home for good_ \-- because she’d never ask him to do that, not unless he specifically expressed it. He reaches over and entwines their hands together as Cooper fumbles for his cup of apple juice.

“Is she scared of us?”

“Natasha?” Clint thinks, trying to figure out how to answer the question, and then unlocks their hands so that he can help Cooper grasp his drink. “She’s more scared of herself, I think. Of the things she’s done that she’s worried will make her a threat to us.”

“Oh.” Laura reaches for the rest of her food. “You never really told me about her, you know. About her past.” She’s looking at him in a way that he knows means _you can tell me if you want_ , the look that also doubles as _but if you don’t talk, I’ll make you_.

“I know,” Clint says. “Because it’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it,” Laura says simply. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Clint glances at Cooper, who is now trying to unsuccessfully grab for a ketchup bottle, and then looks around the restaurant.

“Not here, Laur.”

Laura gives him a wary look, but Clint can tell she at least understands why Clint might not want to start a discussion like this in public. “Okay,” she agrees, gathering her tray and his, as Cooper looks up with a grin.

“Daddy! Pizza turtles gone!”

“You did a very good job eating your pizza turtles,” Clint says solemnly, holding up his hand for a high five. Cooper giggles and slaps Clint’s palm sloppily.

“Well, there’s still hope that his aim will get better,” Clint says with a forlorn sigh as he drops his hand. Laura groans.

“Give it up, Clint. You can buy him all the bow and arrow clothing in the world, and he’s _still_ not going to magically transform into the second coming of Special Agent Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire.”

Clint makes a face in mock hurt but helps Laura clean up the remnants of a toddler lunch, and Laura carries Cooper out to the car. When they get home, Clint unbuckles Cooper from his carseat while Laura helps him inside.

“Go read mommy?”

“In a bit,” Laura promises. “First, we need to get you changed. No pizza turtles on the furniture.”

“By the time I can hold him again, he’ll be too big,” Clint says miserably, trying not to let his depression show as Laura walks up the steps with their son.

“He may be getting big, but you can still carry two-year-olds,” Laura reminds him from the middle stair. “Besides, soon you should be healed enough to not worry about hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be back at work,” he says, throwing his jacket on the couch. “And then who knows when I’ll come back.”

“Yes. It’s like you’ll go away and never come home,” Laura says bluntly before she turns around again, and Clint squeezes his eyes shut as her footsteps disappear, shoving the heel of his palm into his eye.

“Not what I meant, Laur.”

He mutters the words to himself as he puts the leftover pizza in the fridge, and then makes it upstairs in time to see Laura helping Cooper change in his room.

“Hey, kiddo. Whaddya say we go to the library tomorrow?” Clint leans against the door and Cooper’s eyes light up.

“Books?”

“Books,” Clint confirms as Laura slips a baseball top over his head. He walks in and picks up Cooper’s dirty clothing from the floor.

“I’ll start a wash, I guess.”

“That would be preferred,” Laura says mildly as she leans over, allowing Cooper to stretch his arms towards his father. Clint smiles as his son snuggles against him, relishing in the feeling of a small stocky body that’s still trying to figure out how to distribute its baby weight properly. For all that he loves his work, he misses being at home more than he wants to admit. And he misses being around for smaller moments like this, ones that don’t involve huge milestones but just involve him feeling like a father. Cooper looks up at Clint and smiles as drool dribbles down his mouth and onto his now-clean shirt.

“Daddy wash pizza turtles!”

Clint laughs, using his thumb to wipe Cooper’s mouth. “Daddy washes pizza turtles,” he repeats, kissing his son on the head as Laura eases him back into her arms and leaves the room.

 

***

 

After Laura has gotten Cooper fed and bathed, and after she’s helped him wiggle into his Sesame Street pajamas, she walks into the bedroom to find Clint sitting on the bed, drinking a cup of coffee. Her favorite mug is sitting on the bedside table, and a large folder is lying on her pillow.

“What’s this?” Laura asks as she looks down, picking up her coffee. _Decaf_ , she realizes, resisting the urge to make a face because she knows they’re both trying to be better about their caffeine intake.

Clint takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. “This is Natasha. I mean, her file. Well, as much of her file as we’re going to get. It’s not like she came to us from a place that kept records.”

Laura stills and puts her mug down, reaching forward and noting the word CLASSIFIED that’s stamped in stark red over the cover.

“Why are you showing this to me?” she asks a little nervously. Clint rubs his eyes.

“Because you asked. And because you also asked me not to hide things about my partner.”

“I didn’t ask you to steal classified files and get yourself in trouble,” Laura says a little uncertainly. Clint shakes his head.

“When it comes to Natasha, I have clearance to all her files. I’m the only person with that access, aside from Fury and Coulson.”

Laura looks down again, opening the file, staring at the first page.

 

**ROMANOVA, NATALIA ALIANOVNA -- D.O.B. [REDACTED], PLACE OF BIRTH [REDACTED]**

 

“If her age is redacted, how did you know she was so young?” Laura asks, remembering what Clint had told her about Natasha being only twenty-one when she was brought in.

“She told me,” Clint says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and Laura raises an eyebrow.

“And you believed her?”

“Yeah,” Clint says with a shrug, leaning over to put his coffee on the floor. “I was able to figure out kinda quickly when she was and wasn’t lying. And I was the only person who she would talk to when we brought her in, anyway. She knew if she wasn’t truthful and if she didn’t work with me, it would end badly. I mean, not by me -- I’m not that person, you know that. But no one else at SHIELD felt the same way.”

Laura chews on her bottom lip as she sifts through the papers. There isn’t much, when it comes down to it: a few surveillance photos, and most of the papers chronicle what Laura can tell are recent reports and medical tests, judging by the SHIELD stationary. Still, Laura sees words and lists like “violent tendencies,” “assassination history” and “potential triggers” that make her instantly tense.

“This is who you’ve been working with?” _This is who came to our house and slept in the room next to my son?_ She doesn’t add the last question but she knows she can’t help the sharpness in her voice. Clint looks a little guilty.

“Hey, I know how it looks. I mean, on paper, it’s pretty…”

“Dangerous?” Laura asks bluntly, trying to reconcile the words she’s reading with the girl who had taken care of her husband, drank her coffee and straightened up her house.

“She _was_ dangerous, I’m not going to lie about that,” says Clint. “But she’s not that way anymore. I promise. I mean, the way they talk about her in those reports...that’s when they first brought her in, when they were trying to figure out what she had done. She had to acclimate.”

“And _how_ exactly did she acclimate?” Laura asks pointedly, looking at where she knows Clint’s sparring scars are hidden. He sighs.

“It’s not like my job isn’t dangerous, too.”

“I didn’t say your job wasn’t dangerous,” Laura replies. “But unless there’s something I don’t know about, you’re not exactly going around killing world leaders and families. And you’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m not --” Clint stops, taking a measured breath. “It took time,” he says on exhale. “I had to figure out how to read her, and what would set her off. But eventually, she started to trust me. And now that I’m learning about her, and now that she’s learning about me, and now that we have a real partnership going, I think she can be a part of my life.”

Laura looks through the folder again, her eyes roving over the many reports, until a particular name catches her eye.

“Why do they call her the Black Widow?”

“Uh.” Clint looks visibly pained. “Would you believe me if I said it’s because she really likes spiders?”

“ _Clint_ ,” Laura says warningly, and he holds up his hands.

“It’s a code name. Like Hawkeye. She kind of made a name for herself. It’s what they called her when she was in Russia.”

Laura’s mouth twists into a frown. “I’m not sure how I feel about a _code name_ being associated with a deadly animal,” she says, taking out another piece of paper. “So what else do you know? About her? Does she like long walks on the beach?”

Clint suppresses a laugh. “Not exactly. But she does like coffee. Not the way I make it, though.”

“Clint, no one except maybe me likes the way you make it. And half the time I’m pouring out your sludge _for_ you.”

He starts to smile. “She finds my jokes funny. Actually, I don’t think she does, but I can tell that she likes it when I try to break the mood. She’s kind of a dork. But she wouldn’t let anyone see it, I don’t think. She’s stupidly good at combat. But she’s smart, too.“

Laura’s quiet for a long time, and then she closes the folder and places it carefully on her lap. “Do you trust this girl? This Natasha?”

Clint nods. “I do. I trust _this_ Natasha. The one that took care of me...the one that took care of you. The one who is my partner.”

“As opposed to another Natasha?” Laura asks skeptically, and Clint shrugs.

“I told you. She’s seen war.”

Whether or not Clint means it literally or figuratively, the words make Laura uncomfortable and she reaches over to card her hand through his hair, as the folder slips off her lap and cascades to the floor.

“I’ve _always_ trusted you,” she says quietly. “You know that. I just...I also _know_ you, Clint. You look the other way when it comes to people who have things wrong with them, because you have too much faith. And I don’t want that to hurt you someday.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with Natasha,” Clint says a little harshly. “And it’s not going to hurt me. I don’t just have faith in her, Laura. I _believe_ in her. She’s proven that she cares about me, about you. I mean, would she have saved my life if she was still a terrible person?”

“No -- Clint, I’m not saying that,” Laura tries to keep her voice gentle. “I like her, okay? I know I’ve been a little concerned in the past, but now that I’ve met her, it’s different.”

Clint makes a face. “You don’t sound convinced,” he says, as if Laura’s unwillingness to accept Natasha easily is an insult.

“She’s a little hard to read,” Laura admits, gesturing to the file that’s fallen to the floor. “And I know she has all of that. But I also know what you’ve told me, and what I saw with my own eyes.” She thinks of the girl who had held her in Cooper’s room, who hadn’t judged her for breaking down. “I just...I can’t watch your back all the time.”

“What are you saying?” Clint asks and Laura takes a moment to breathe, letting her senses take in everything about the moment that makes Clint present, that makes Clint _here_ : the strong aroma of coffee and his slightly tainted breath, and the faint smell of homespun sweat that’s probably due to the fact he had put the heater on too high.

“I’m saying that I trust you,” Laura says softly. “And I just want you to be sure. That’s all I’m asking. With her, with _anything_ in this job...just be sure.”

Clint holds her gaze and then leans over to kiss her gently, his eyes clearing. “Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t move after he presses their lips together, instead staying close as he drags a hand through her hair and then down her neck. Laura closes her eyes as he slips a hand underneath the shirt she’s wearing, both of them falling comfortably onto the bed.

“When was the last time we celebrated having time to ourselves?” Clint murmurs as he kisses a line down her throat, pulling her shirt down. Laura exhales slowly as he marks his way over her skin, like a treasure hunter rediscovering a map whose locations have been forgotten.

“Too long,” she admits quietly, realizing she can’t remember. Certainly before Clint’s injury, and definitely before he had left for his latest mission. As much as Laura loved making love to Clint, as much as she loved touching his body in a way that reminded her that he was _hers_ , she had never thought of sex as something that needed to be a constant, regular thing. It occurred when they felt like it, when they wanted it, but as long as they could be intimate in other ways -- as long as he was home and simply lying next to her, kissing her or playing with her hair -- that was more than enough.

It doesn’t make the moments, when they do happen, any less magical though.

“Hey.” Clint stops kissing her, raising his head, and rubs a hand gently over her cheek. “What are you thinking of?”

Laura closes her eyes as his palm brushes against her skin, calloused flesh that’s rough and at the same time strangely soft, like an anchor pulling against sand. “How lucky I am that you’re mine,” she breathes, opening her eyes and pushing up to kiss him back. Clint’s smile sends fireworks through her stomach and they fall into a tangle of limbs and entwined bodies, and their lovemaking is slow and measured and filled with everything they can’t find words to say out loud.

 

***

 

The latest intel from SHIELD has Oksana holed up at the Hyatt Regency in Boston, a swanky downtown hotel, which Natasha thinks is both the dumbest and smartest location. Previous reports had put her in train stations or restaurants, always blending in and never staying in one place long enough to be tracked. But despite being out in the open, Natasha knows why Oksana has decided to hide in plain sight -- Ivan had always been firm when it came to believing that his children deserved the best. It was a condition that had been hard to break away from, even when Natasha started to realize it was stupid.

 _You never learn, do you, little devil,_ Natasha thinks as she takes a seat on a bench across the street, slipping on her sunglasses and fluffing the strands of her long brown wig. She wonders who Oksana has managed to latch onto, and for that matter, how much of their money she had already stolen. She has a small moment of a silence for the random person she doesn’t know, who she’s aware will probably end up with a knife in his throat at some point, when Oksana’s done with him.

It’s a little colder than usual for late May, and Natasha finds herself involuntarily shivering as she scans her surroundings, keeping a careful watch on the sliding doors of the hotel. She’s been parked in front of the building in some manner since last night, though she hasn’t seen Oksana arrive or leave. Natasha would feel more worried about that, but she _knows_ Oksana -- and if Oksana has cared enough to check herself into a fancy hotel, it means she’s been afforded some precious time off. A gift of sorts, the kind that Ivan would give his best students. Natasha shivers more at the memory, at the thought of Ivan and everything she’d worked so hard to leave behind.

She glances down to check that the weapon she’s carrying is still firmly encased in her coat pocket, and when she looks up a familiar blonde head is entering her line of sight. Natasha’s throat instantly closes up and her blood runs cold, her limbs tightening at the first real look at her old friend.

 _No, not friend_ , Natasha reminds herself. _Enemy_. Oksana had maybe been a friend once, before they were pitted against each other, before the Red Room became every woman for herself -- before Oksana had ruthlessly tortured her, to the point of near death.

_“They say you are the best, Natalia. They say you are undefeated, little spider. Do you dare kill your own sister?” Oksana had asked the question with a smile, with teeth that were broken and stained with blood and an arm that Natasha had already broken hanging uselessly at her side._

Natasha was supposed to kill Oksana. And Natasha had not killed Oksana, because Natasha at that time had been made of plastic, not metal.

 _But I can kill you now_ , she thinks as she watches Oksana bum a cigarette from one of the bellhops with a sweet smile that Natasha can see right through. _I will kill you now_. The way Oksana moves is familiar, her body curving in all the right places, and Natasha realizes she recognizes it because the moves are those inherent of a killer.

Oksana lingers just out of the shadows as Natasha shifts in place and tries to follow her with her eyes. Once or twice, Oksana’s gaze flicks across the street but Natasha’s undeterred; she’s sure she hasn’t been seen. She knows her former friend too well and has too much knowledge about how Oksana would react if she had even a thought that Natasha might be anywhere in the vicinity. Natasha snakes her hand into the pocket of her jacket, fingers closing around the handle of the gun, and she squints, analyzing her trajectory. If Oksana stayed hidden like this, the shot would be easy to make. The silencer would keep the kill quiet and she could disappear while the commotion happened, and be gone before anyone realized who had delivered the fatal blow to a seemingly innocent girl.

And then...no more Oksana. No more worrying that someone could come after her and force her to return to her country. No more worrying that someone could come after her partner and his family. Natasha’s insides tingle with a sensation she hasn’t felt in far too long, and she suddenly understands why.

 _What I was trained to do_ , she thinks, recognizing the feeling of preparing for a kill. As she starts to draw her hand out of her pocket, something else brushes against her fingers and she stops curiously, letting go of the gun to pull out the offending object.

It’s a photo, she realizes: a recent one of Clint and Laura and Cooper, taken at what Natasha suspects is some sort of family gathering, judging by the amount of people in the background. Clint’s perched on the armrest of the couch, leaning in, while Laura circles one arm around Cooper’s shoulder. The little boy is pressed into Laura’s side, almost intimately so, a small smile inching across his freckled face. Natasha stares at the picture in surprise, her mind trying to reconcile why or how she’d come into contact with something so personal and random, before she remembers that she must have put it in her coat when she was packing up, as a reminder to give it back before she left.

Natasha clenches her teeth, staving off the feeling in her stomach -- a different one, not one that’s rooted in bloodlust. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Oksana move again, and folds the picture over, shoving it back into her pocket. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , her handlers had always told her -- or was that Oksana who had told her that, during training?

_“You will be better than all of us, little spider.”_

Natasha’s hand closes around the gun handle again and she watches as Oksana stills once more. She prepares for her shot, breathing deeply through her nose.

 _This is what you were made for, Natasha. This is your legacy_.

A small cry startles Natasha for the second time, and she turns her head slightly to see a woman holding a small, unhappy child. Natasha’s heart beats a little more quickly at the sound that reminds her of Cooper, her mind flashing immediately to the photo of the small boy snuggled up against his mother. She finds herself wondering if anyone would ever allow themselves to be that vulnerable with her.

 _Not if you’re like this_ , she thinks with a chill. Oksana is moving again, throwing her cigarette to the side, but Natasha can’t seem to get Cooper’s face out of her mind.

“Dammit,” she mutters, letting go of the gun as Oksana walks back into the hotel, disappearing from sight. Her hands are not only shaking but they’re clammy, there’s sweat dripping down the back of her neck, and she thinks she might pass out. Natasha gets up calmly and then walks quickly down the street until she finds a small coffee shop that allows her to use the bathroom. After locking herself inside, she falls to her knees and vomits into the toilet.

 _You didn’t kill_.

The fact bothers her, but it bothers her more that Natasha knows her feelings. She knows what she had felt when she had seen Oksana come out of the hotel, and she had _wanted_ to kill. She had the shot. And yet, in the moment, she hadn’t taken it.

_Why?_

Natasha raises her head and wraps her arms around her legs, wondering if she’s going to be sick again. When she closes her eyes it’s Cooper’s face she sees, Cooper and then Laura, holding her child tightly as if she’s afraid to let him go. Clint smiling, leaning seamlessly into his wife’s shoulder -- Clint, her partner, who she realizes that she would die to protect, if it came down to it.

“Hey!” A fist bangs harshly on the door. “Come on, lady! Some of us don’t have all day!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and gets up, throwing water onto her eyes and readying her game face.

“Sorry,” she apologizes as she opens the door to greet an annoyed looking balding man holding a latte. “Single bathrooms can be such a pain. Just had some _personal_ things to take care of.”

She walks quickly out of the shop, realizing for the first time that she has no idea where to go. She had gone back to SHIELD after leaving the farm, for meetings and to gather the rest of her intel and to regroup. But when she had arrived in Boston, she hadn’t planned for anything after killing Oksana. She figured she would do the deed, return to SHIELD, and then wait for Clint to return to work, however long that took. But the thought of going back to SHIELD without Clint makes Natasha’s skin crawl, and she knows she doesn’t _want_ to be at work right now. Not with the faces of people who she knows still judge her when they think she’s not looking.

She could call Fury and get an advance to stay in Boston, she knows. She could use the money and time to hop around at a few hotels and claim that she still needs some time to dig into her leads. He’d be suspicious, but he wouldn’t deny her the access.

Or, she could run.

Natasha breaks into a brisk walk, winding blindly through the streets. _This is stupid_ , her mind tells her as her gait becomes faster and more harried. _You don’t need to run. You know exactly where you want to be._

 _I can’t be there_ , Natasha thinks desperately, a one sided conversation she’s determined to crush. She couldn’t knock on the door of the farm like a broken doll, asking for help because she had failed at something she never would have had an issue with in the past. She couldn’t knock on the door and greet Laura holding Cooper, she couldn’t have the little boy reaching for someone who had just come from almost murdering someone in cold blood.

She could call Clint, and she could ask him to come back, because she knows that he would even if he wasn’t fully prepared to leave home yet.

 _I can’t do that to him_ , Natasha thinks as pain spreads through her chest, because she’s walking too fast and not taking in enough oxygen to fill her lungs. She stops when she gets to a busy intersection, finding a wall of a building to lean against. When she looks up, she realizes she’s standing in front of a train station.

Natasha stares at the building and then starts walking across the street, ducking into the station and moving to the side so that she’s not blocking the rush of passengers. She feels her stomach clench with something that might be fear and then pulls out her cell phone.

“Hey,” Clint sounds surprised when he answers, and she figures he hasn’t expected to hear from her. “Coming home?”

Natasha glances around at the crowds and at the lines forming around the ticket counters, knowing what she wants to say and knowing what she can’t say. “Actually.” She swallows down her emotions. “I think I’m going to stay here for awhile.”

“Oh.” Clint sounds more than a little disappointed, and she tries not to care because when has she _ever_ cared? When had this shift happened, the shift that caused her to not only care about her partner and his family, but _love_ them?

 _Because that’s what this is_ , Natasha realizes with a start. _Love is for children_ , that’s what she had always been told, and if that was the case then maybe she really _was_ a child. Maybe she was foolish for making herself so vulnerable with the person who was originally sent to kill her. She’d taken to Clint in a way she hadn’t expected, she’d found a place with him beyond just liking his bad jokes and the way his body moved when they sparred together. He was firm and unapologetic but he never made her feel like she was a child that needed to be coddled. He made her feel safe in a way she’d never felt before, and after being at the farm -- after seeing what he had with Laura and Cooper -- it had made her even more nervous about her feelings.

“Natasha? Everything okay?”

She realizes she’s fallen silent, giving too long of an awkward pause. “Everything’s fine,” she says once she gets control of her voice, hoping he can read between the lines. “I just need some time to myself. Say hi to your wife. I’ll see you when you’re back at work.”

She hangs up before he can respond, and then takes a deep breath as she approaches the ticket counter.

 

***

 

Natasha hits almost every state in the greater Northeast area before she decides to buy a bus ticket to Iowa.

She isn’t sure what she expects to find while she runs, and the places she runs to aren’t the usual ones, either. Natasha’s used to taking her running to cities that she can’t pronounce and countries she hasn’t set foot in for ages, anywhere that she feels like she can hide and where she also feels foreign enough to get lost. She stays in a few crappy motels and one bed and breakfast, and spends her time aimlessly wandering around the places she inhabits: a mountain path in New Hampshire, a pasture in Vermont, a stretch of road in Maine, a beach in Martha’s Vineyard. She wanders and tries to ignore the things she sees: women with babies and men with families, children who run around with yells and screams, the very things that Natasha’s trying so hard to forget she’s become a part of, the things that she doesn’t want but _does_ at the same time -- the things she thought she would never want. By the time she decides to leave the Northeast for Iowa, and by the time she gets off the bus and catches a taxi to the edge of the farm, she’s exhausted in more ways than one.

It’s only seven in the morning, but Natasha knows from experience that no one ever really sleeps at the farm. From her spot behind one of the big trees, she can see Laura leaning over to open a window, the door moving slightly so that she can grab the paper. If she listens hard enough, she knows she’ll soon be able to hear the sound of the television, possibly Cooper’s loud toddler voice that’s still trying to find a proper register, possibly Clint’s deep morning gruff that comes before he has a sufficient amount of coffee in his system.

Part of her hurts as she watches the scene she’s imagining in her mind, the scene she can see so clearly from having already been a part of it: Laura cooking breakfast in her robe with Clint sitting on the couch, reading to Cooper, one hand wrapped around his son’s waist and the other clutching his coffee cup, while trying to explain why grown-ups needed to drink things like coffee in the morning. Laura humming popular radio songs under her breath and turning around every so often to ask a question, and Clint eventually getting up and sitting down at the table, kissing his wife out of habit before asking Cooper about the books they’ve read the night before. It’s a scene she realizes she wants to be a part of, but she knows the invisible barrier keeping her out of this kind of life is larger than the stretch of lawn that separates her from the house.

She sinks down against the tree, paying attention the same way she knows she would if she were on a stake-out. After another hour or so, the door finally opens again and Laura walks outside with her purse and a canvas bag, carrying Cooper in one arm. Natasha checks her watch; it’s close to nine which means Laura will be taking Cooper to his morning playgroup and then along with her for weekend errands, leaving Natasha plenty of time to be at the house without anyone knowing. Natasha waits until the toddler has been buckled securely into the van and Laura has driven off before taking a deep breath, walking up to the house. She pauses at the front door and then tries the knob, hoping Laura’s been absent-minded enough to leave it open.

She has, and Natasha says a silent prayer, because she really hadn’t wanted to deal with trying to pick locks given her exhaustion. She slips inside, immediately noting the silence: the television has been switched off and Clint is sitting at the table studying what looks like a mess of complicated blueprints, his reading glasses sliding down his nose.

Natasha opens her mouth to announce herself but realizes she can’t find words, so she stands rooted to the floor of the kitchen, paused in the entryway, watching as Clint gets up for another round of coffee.

“Jesus Christ!” he yells when he turns around and sees Natasha standing behind him. The recently-filled cup slips from his hand and smashes onto the floor, splattering coffee and porcelain in all directions. “Nat! What the _actual fuck_?!”

“Sorry,” Natasha apologizes, wincing as she watches Clint wring his hands free of the burning liquid, some of which has made its way onto his pants and shirt.

“Are you insane? Are you _fucking_ insane? Coming in here like this, with no warning? I could’ve killed you!”

“Really?” Natasha tries to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as Clint carefully moves to grab some paper towels. “You were going to reach into your pants and pull out an invisible gun?”

“Not the point,” Clint says sharply as he bends down, picking up big chunks of ceramic. “You know you shouldn’t surprise me like this in my own home. You know about us and instinct.”

 _Instinct_. Natasha wants to laugh and cry at the same time. _I do know about instinct, Barton_.

Clint shakes his head, grumbling under his breath, something Natasha can barely make out that sounds like “fucking hell,” and “favorite mug.” Natasha watches while he goes to the closet to get a dust buster, which he uses to collect the small pieces of the shattered cup that he hasn’t been able to procure with his hands, before mopping up the rest of the mess with another set of paper towels.

“Wait here,” he says warily, gesturing to the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Natasha grabs a banana from the fruit bowl before sliding into the chair he’s previously vacated, staring down at the blueprints which she realizes upon further inspection belong to the farm. There are multiple pencil marks and small notes in the margins, numbers and measurements written in Clint’s patented chicken scrawl that Natasha finds herself fascinated by. When Clint finally returns downstairs, he’s changed from his coffee-stained clothes into a dark top and a pair of ripped jeans. His hair, which had been previously rumpled in ten different directions, has been smoothed down into something resembling a presentable appearance.

“You look better,” she can’t help but remark as he sits down next to her. He’s still moving a little slower than usual, but she can tell he’s much more comfortable with his body than he had been when she left.

“Yeah,” Clint nods. “Fury gave me the all clear on the physical, so I’m going back next week. Probably not going to get any huge assignments, but at least I’m cleared for the field if I want to go out.”

“That’s good,” Natasha says evasively, ignoring the way Clint’s looking at her.

“I was going to check up on you later. You know, until you decided to show up here and scare the ever-living shit out of me.”

Natasha does look up at that, half annoyed and half grateful. “You’ve been checking up on me?”

“Course,” he grunts, looking a little frustrated. “How else was I supposed to know if my partner was going to go off the deep end and kill everyone within a five mile radius? Not exactly the first thing I want to hear about when I get back to work.” He pauses, running a hand over his face. “And, you know. I was worried about you.”

Natasha’s chest tightens, as if a vise has been wrapped around her ribcage. “I’m fine,” she manages. “I was fine.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Did you find Oksana?”

Natasha hesitates. “Yes,” she says after a beat. “And it doesn’t matter.”

“Nat --”

“It doesn’t _matter_ , Clint.” She resists the urge to slam her fist against the table because she can’t talk about this right now, not even here, not even with just him. There are reminders everywhere that make her uncomfortable, from the drawings on the refrigerator to the cup that’s sitting on the table, Laura’s mug that Natasha knows she’d used multiple times when she was staying over.

“Nat,” he says again, reaching out and wrapping two fingers around her hand. Natasha suddenly feels herself coming apart.

“Tell me I’m safe,” she says quietly and Clint nods.

“You’re safe. No one is going to come here and hurt you.”

“No,” Natasha says, raising her head. “ _Tell me I’m safe_. From myself.”

The lines on Clint’s forehead become deeper, and he starts breathing a little faster. “Of course you’re safe. You’re my partner, you’re --”

Natasha moves without thinking, grabbing a knife Laura’s left out from breakfast. It’s just a butter knife but even still, she feels Clint stiffen as she takes her stance behind him, pushing the utensil to his throat.

“Natasha. You’re my partner. That’s all.” His voice is calm and his body is frozen, but she can feel the way his pulse is beating rapidly against the two fingers she has touching his neck. She focuses on the veins she can see protruding underneath his skin, the feel of the knife in its preparation to draw fresh blood, and she tries to force her body to reclaim the sensation she knows so well, the one that had been ingrained in her.

“Natasha.”

 _Natasha_. His voice is gentle, more gentle than she knows she deserves, and she drops the knife into his lap as she backs away, hitting the counter when she steps too far.

“I’m sorry,” she says when he turns around, carefully placing the knife back onto the table. She drops her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see in them as the realization hits her.

_I just tried to kill my partner._

It hadn’t been a real trigger moment. It hadn’t been a gun or even her own fingers, it had only been a blunt knife. But the intention had been there, and the feeling had been there, and the weapon had been brandished all the same.

 _I just tried to kill my partner_.

“Clint.” She hits the ground knees first, feeling the pain smack into her bones. “Christ, Clint, I’m sorry, I didn’t --”

This time he’s the one moving, getting up and walking over. He sits down on the kitchen floor and then takes her in his arms, letting her fold against him. Clint drags his hands through her hair in comforting strokes, the callouses of his fingers brushing against her skull.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Natasha says shakily. “I didn’t...I just needed to prove it to myself, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Prove what to yourself?” Clint asks softly, still holding her. “That you’re a killer?”

A part of her hates him for being so blunt, for not shying away from being honest, because the words make her want to throw up -- so much so that she puts her head between her knees, staring at the opaque tiled floor. “Yes,” she says softly, willing the nausea to subside. “Because if I’m not that person...if I can’t kill, then I don’t know who I am.”

Clint twists his hands roughly in her hair, as if he’s trying to force her to come out of her conditioning the same way he used to when she was first brought in. “I told you,” he says in a low voice. “You’re my partner. You’re Laura’s friend. And it’s okay.”

“It’s _not okay_!” Natasha says angrily, pulling away from his touch. “Fuck, Clint! I almost killed you!”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I _wanted_ to!” For all that she knows about Clint having his blindspots when it came to people he cared about, she can’t fathom how he doesn’t see the problem with this entire situation. She had forcefully attacked him because he was alone and because she knew she could allow herself to snap and lose control. But she has no idea if she could have stopped herself from reacting the same way if Cooper and Laura _had_ been in the house after all.

“Natasha.” Clint takes her face in both hands, cupping her cheeks between his palms, the same way Natasha’s seen Laura hold his face when she kisses him. “Natasha, look at me. _Look at me_.”

She swallows down a rush of bile as she meets his eyes, surprised to find that instead of anger or annoyance or even fear, there’s softness and understanding.

“Clint.”

“Tasha.” His voice is like fresh saltwater finally breaking over the shore after a long, rough sea, a whispered comfort, a version of her name that she knows no one has ever been allowed to call her before. Many people called her Natasha, few people called her Nat, but not even the marks she had seduced in her life had called her by a nickname so personal and so tender.

“What if she had been here?” Natasha asks as the anxiety rises in her chest. “What if I had walked in on you eating breakfast with your family and I had just...snapped?”

Clint thumbs away a tear she hasn’t realized she’s let fall. “Then I would have stopped you and protected them before anything else, because they’re my family.”

Natasha blinks back more tears, not bothering to wonder how Clint would know to say the very thing that she needed to hear: that he would kill her if it came down to it rather than risk his family’s life.

“Listen to me,” he continues. “You spent nearly three weeks with my family when I was the most vulnerable. You had full access to my house, my wife, my kid, not to mention my secrets...do you really think after all of that, after everything that happened, that I wouldn’t trust you? That _Laura_ would think she couldn’t trust you?”

“Laura doesn’t know what I am,” Natasha whispers. “Your _kid_ doesn’t know who I am.” She thinks of Laura’s hands stroking her arm, of Cooper handing her a cup of yogurt, silently asking if she wants to share his food. “But I know who I am.”

“And I know who you are,” Clint reminds her. “You’re Natasha Romanoff. You’re my partner. You’re my friend. And you’ve done things in your life that you’re not proud of but you’ve also saved my life. I don’t care who you were. I only care about who you _are_.”

When he reaches for her again she lets him pull her in, thinking of Oksana and of the picture that’s still hidden in her jacket. Her mind wants to her to say the words out loud, the _I love you_ that sits on her tongue, but she still doesn’t know if that love is coming from an innate need to belong, or if she really is thinking of him as more than just a partner and a friend.

“I’m going back to SHIELD,” she says when she decides to speak again. “I’ll be there when you get back.”

“Okay,” Clint says, continuing to stroke her hair. Natasha swallows down more emotion.

“And don’t tell Laura I was here,” she continues, suddenly fearful. “Please...don’t tell her.”

“Okay,” Clint repeats, holding her tighter. “I won’t tell her.”

“Or that I came and tried to --”

“Nat, I won’t tell her anything. I promise.” He buries his face in her hair. “Our secret, okay? Just us.”

She’s always hated people who gave up parts of themselves just to gain comfort from someone else, because she’s always thought of that as a show of weakness. But it’s not the worst thing in the world, she realizes, being able to have someone in her life that she can feels she can be vulnerable with. Natasha stays pressed into Clint’s side as the breeze picks up, as the wind chimes on the front porch whistle quietly, a soft sense of home that’s trying desperately to worm its way into her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive, continued thanks to everyone who is reading this story, especially as these chapters get longer (and longer...and longer...) And thanks to my tumblr crew for always being supportive (you know who you are) and, as always [geniusorinsanity](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) for being my partner in crime, sending me doggie pictures when I need them the most, sharing in all my feelings and always making me cry (with feelings.)
> 
> For more OT3 feelings, I'm on tumblr [here](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com).


	14. 2009: Part II

The first week of May, Clint and Natasha arrive in Vienna for an undercover mission that ends up involving three different car chases, one close call thanks to a target that shoots with bad aim, and an unprecedented knife gash to the underside of Clint’s shooting arm that’s bad enough to require impromptu stitches and painkillers, but not so severe that it needs immediate medical attention. Nonetheless, they’re both well past the point of exhaustion when everything is finally over, and rather than try to jet back to New York in that state, Clint calls Fury to let them know they’re going to be staying overnight in one of the SHIELD safehouses.

Tired as they are, it doesn’t stop Natasha from running her fingers up and down the veins of his arm after she bandages his wound, and it doesn’t stop Clint from leaning over to kiss her in thanks, which in turn leads to Natasha pushing him onto the bed. Three rounds of rough sex later, Natasha’s body is covered in a layer of sweat, and blood from Clint’s injury is spotting the sheets as Natasha finishes her last orgasm, breathing heavily into the curve of his shoulder. Clint waits until she’s recovered and has moved off of him before he speaks.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Natasha admits as Clint rolls off the bed, taking half of the covers with him. Natasha props herself up on one elbow as he walks into a small room at the other end of the safehouse, rustling around for what seems like forever until he emerges with a bag of Lays potato chips and a large candy bar.

“Don’t tell me you walk around your house like this after sex,” Natasha remarks as she watches him pad nakedly across the floor. “With your dick hanging out, and all. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s a nice dick, but male anatomy isn’t all that attractive when you’re not doing anything with it.”

Clint knows he looks as horrified as he feels when he gets back into bed, pulling the covers up and handing her the bag of chips.

“Are you _kidding_?” He tears into the chocolate bar. “No way. Not with my kid. I’m pretty sure the last time I felt like I had free reign to walk around naked after sex in someplace other than my bedroom was before Laura and I moved to the farm.”

“And now your apartment,” Natasha adds with a small smile. They had tried to keep their mission sex to a minimum, mostly because a lot of times they didn’t _have_ the extra minutes to kill that would allow them to spare a quickie. But given that Natasha was now sleeping with him regularly, it was also no longer a necessity to grab an orgasm here or there when they were racing against the clock, just because they didn’t feel comfortable sleeping together anywhere else. Clint lets her nestle into his side as she crunches on a few chips, humming contently.

“I like when it’s like this,” she says, her voice quiet, a hidden confession that Clint knows comes from a genuine place. “When it’s just us.”

Clint lets his head dip forward so he can kiss her. “Me, too,” he admits, because he thinks that no matter how much they get comfortable with this, nothing will ever take away the thrill that they both feel when they get to essentially hide away in a foreign country, holed up with no responsibilities and no one knowing their exact location, stealing these moments of intimacy. He drags his fingers through her hair, which is still damp, finding himself comforted by the feeling of rough fingers that are soft against a mess of curls.

“Laura and I have been talking about having another kid,” he says and Natasha shifts, looking up at him.

“Talking or trying?”

Clint hesitates. “Both,” he says, before breaking into a smile. “Basically, between you and her, I’ve been getting a lot of action in the past few months.”

“You are so _easy_ ,” Natasha mutters with a sigh as she runs her hand over the newer bruises on his stomach. “Do you _want_ another kid? Right now?” She lets her gaze flit to the door, indicating their current situation, and Clint knows what she means without having to ask.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, we always knew we wanted at least two...it’s just that when Cooper was born, the planning kind of went awry.” When Natasha gives him a curious look, Clint realizes he’s never actually told her the whole story. “Laura kind of pushed us into having a kid when we first got married, because she was worried her parents were going to be forced to move. But then it turned out that she had a really tough time getting pregnant, and when it finally did happen, we were totally unprepared. It also happened at exactly the same time Fury came by and tried to recruit me for SHIELD, if you can figure that.” He sighs. “A mess, in the end, but a good mess.”

“You seem to find yourself in messes a lot,” Natasha points out, bending down to kiss his chest, sucking at his skin. Clint laughs.

“Yeah, but you might be my favorite mess.”

Natasha smiles against him as she continues to move her mouth across his body. “You know, months ago, I probably would’ve just assumed you were lying if you said that.”

Clint inclines his head so that he can see her face better. “And now?”

“Now.” Natasha pauses to kiss him again. “Now, I _know_ you love me. Now, I know you’re being honest when you say things like you can’t imagine your life without me.”

Clint feels a warmth spread up his neck, settling in his cheeks, one that he knows has nothing to do with their post-sex cuddling. “Aw, Nat, you’re actually learning how to be sentimental.”

Natasha smacks his chest with the back of her palm. “I’m serious,” she says quietly. “You don’t know what it means to know that someone cares like this. To know that someone can be honest about their feelings like this.”

“It’s the sex, isn’t it?” Clint asks, still avoiding a proper response, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Well, you do have a nice dick. A little too big, a little hard to get my mouth around sometimes, but --”

Clint laughs as he cuts her off, dropping his now empty candy bar wrapper on the floor. He cuddles Natasha in his arms, breathing in her scent, taking in all the things he knows to be deeply his partner: gunpowder singed hair, toned muscles that push against his body in the places most sensitive, the abrasive scratch of her surgical scar from last year’s gunshot wound. With Laura, his broken body fit like a bandaid, her skin a soft blanket that healed him of his imperfections. With Natasha, he’s realizing more and more that his broken body fit like a glove, her own bruised and battered limbs a reminder of the fact that being imperfect made him special.

“For what it’s worth, it’s the truth. And I’m always honest.”

 

***

 

While Clint and Natasha are shooting bad guys and narrowly avoiding traffic collisions and having sex in Vienna, Laura takes a pregnancy test and is surprised but thrilled to find two sharp lines of pink in the small window.

The feeling is a complete 180 from Cooper, whose pregnancy reveal had been marred by scared feelings, a new relationship, and too many frustrated attempts that seemed like they would never be successful. Even the initial conversations about the decision to have another child had come from a place of quiet and careful deliberation, both of them deciding that it was finally the right time between Clint’s work schedule and Cooper’s age, as opposed to hastily falling into the discussion because of other factors. She smiles through inevitable tears and then calls her parents, who exclaim their happiness at another grandchild far too loudly, causing Cooper to wander into the bedroom after Laura takes them off speakerphone.

“Why’s grandma yelling?”

Laura turns to her son as she hangs up, sticking the test in her back pocket. His hands and clothes are covered with finger painting residue and Laura finds herself hoping that he at least had the sense to keep his mess to the small art table she’d gotten him as a birthday gift last year.

“She’s just happy,” Laura says after a moment. She sits down on the bed, reaching over to grab her son so she can wrestle him into her lap. Cooper wiggles out of Laura’s grasp almost immediately.

“ _Mooooooom_ ,” he whines as he scrambles towards the door, and Laura raises an eyebrow.

“Six year old boys can still be held, you know,” she says in a firm, no nonsense voice as Cooper makes a face. “I hold your dad all the time.”

“That’s cause daddy falls down a lot,” Cooper responds loftily and Laura bites down on a laugh.

“Let me clean up, and then we’ll go into town for lunch.”

Cooper’s eyes light up. “Can we go to the bookstore?”

“We can,” Laura agrees, gently forcing him out of the room. “You need a new book for when daddy comes home, right?”

Cooper nods vigorously. “I’m almost done with the one we’re reading. Dad says next we’re gonna start _The Borrowers_ next. It’s about tiny people living in secret places!”

Laura nods absently as she follows him down the stairs, relieved to find out that most of Cooper’s artistic talent _has_ stayed on the art table as well as on a few dishrags. Laura washes the table off and after changing Cooper out of his play clothes and into something suitable for going out into public, she gets him in the car and drives into town with an obligatory stop for a large amaretto flavored coffee at her favorite cafe. Then she heads to the small, independently owned bookstore that she’s been frequenting almost every week in some capacity since they’d moved to the farm.

“Laura Barton.” An older woman with salt and pepper hair smiles easily and warmly as Laura walks in, holding Cooper’s hand. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Laura puts her coffee down on the counter so she can greet the woman with a warm hug. “Been a little busy, Judy.” She nods towards her son. “You know how it is.”

“Yes, I do,” Judy responds, glancing down at Cooper, who is pressed into his mom’s leg. “How are you today, Cooper?”

“Good,” Cooper responds quietly, avoiding eye contact, the epitome of a still-shy child. “We’re buying books.”

“I would hope you’re buying books,” Judy says brightly, ruffling his hair. “Because I know how much you like your books. We’ve got some new places for you to sit and read, do you want to come see?”

Cooper nods against Laura’s jeans and Laura helps walk him to the back of the store, where the quiet white and grey walls transition into a vibrant atmosphere of red and blue. Cooper’s eyes widen when he sees the two bean bag chairs set up in the middle of the floor and he breaks away from Laura’s hand to run, jumping into the plush cushion.

“Boys,” Laura mutters under her breath, but she’s smiling as she watches Judy walk over with a stack of thin paperbacks. Laura steps back and lets her son contently relax.

“How’s that husband of yours?” Judy asks as she joins Laura. “Still working too much?”

Laura laughs. “Always working,” she admits ruefully. “But at least he gets to call Cooper each night. They’ve been reading together over the phone, which is partly why we’ve gone through our books so fast.”

“Mmmm. And how’s that redhead?”

Laura finds herself caught off guard by Judy’s question, even though she knows she shouldn’t be. It was a small town with an even smaller grapevine, moreover, Natasha had been around more than a handful of times since she started coming to the farm regularly. She’d gone on her own errands, she’d been with Clint, and she’d been with Laura and Cooper when they’ve run into people.

“Natasha?”

“Is that her name?” Judy looks interested. “I realized she’s never introduced herself when she’s been in here. She’s quite the exotic one, though -- last time I talked to her, she engaged me in a very insightful discussion about the best places to eat in Europe, when I mentioned Frank and I were going there next summer. Said she gets all the information from her travels. I have to admit, I was a little jealous of her jet-setting.”

Laura hides a grin. “She’s seen a lot of the world, thanks to her job. She’ll be back to visit soon.”

“Another hand to help around the house, I bet.” Judy winks. “Although you seem like you’ve got it all under control these days.”

Laura finds she can’t stop herself from openly grinning, unable to keep the excitement bubbling up in her at bay. “Actually…” She glances towards Cooper, making sure he’s engaged with his books and then turns around so that he can’t see her face. “I’m pregnant again.”

“Laura!” Judy’s mouth crumples into an equally face-splitting grin and she reaches forward to hug Laura tightly. “Oh, Laura, congratulations! Have you told your husband yet?”

“Not yet,” Laura says, shaking her head. “I just found out, and I’m waiting until he gets home. I’d rather do it in person, if you know what I mean.” She pauses, looking at Cooper. “We’re hoping for a girl, so we can balance out the testosterone in this family.”

Judy nods wisely. “My oldest, when her sister was born, she was _convinced_ that I was having a girl. She wouldn’t accept anything otherwise. She even made me bet on it and argued with me right up until the baby was born. Thankfully, she didn’t have to be disappointed.”

“Clint wants Cooper to take after him in his interests, but I’m pretty sure smooth talking and a love of books is about the only thing he’s gotten from my husband so far,” Laura admits. “Well, that and the ability to eat and make a mess of anything. It’ll be good for him, though, to have a sister or brother. Clint and I are basically only children, and we wanted to give him a sibling to grow up with.”

Judy raises an eyebrow. “Your family’s growing larger by the minute.”

Laura finds herself biting back a laugh because Judy couldn’t know how true her words really were. Between another child and Natasha having become integrated into their lives, Laura’s happily realizing that a house she once thought would be too big was becoming more full than she could’ve imagined.

“Hopefully not _too_ big, or we’ll have to add another addition.”

“Well. Not that my opinion counts for anything, but I encourage you to have _at least_ three so you’re outnumbered in some capacity,” Judy responds smartly. “Besides, I’m sure your husband could handle building another home or two, if it came down to it.”

Laura purses her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says wryly, glancing at her son, who’s still engrossed in his book. He looks so content that Laura doesn’t have the heart to try to disturb him, as much as she knows they can’t stay here all day.

“My assistant will be in soon, if you want to leave him with me for awhile,” Judy says, as if reading Laura’s mind. “I can watch him for a little bit, and make sure he doesn’t tear the place down.”

“Would you mind?” Laura asks gratefully. “I’ll just be about fifteen minutes. I need to deposit a check and pick up some fruit at the market.”

“Laura.” Judy squeezes her arm gently. “You forget how much business you give me, and how long I’ve known your family. Of _course_ I wouldn’t mind.” She smiles encouragingly and Laura nods, walking over to bend down in front of her son.

“Hey, Coop.” She strokes his mess of unruly hair. “Mommy’s going to run a few errands while you read, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“K.” Cooper barely looks up, turning another page as his nose scrunches up in concentration, and Laura kisses him on the head. When she looks around for Judy, she finds her scouring through a pile of books in the baby section.

“Judy, don’t you dare,” Laura admonishes when she realizes what the other woman is doing.

“Think of them as early baby gifts,” Judy replies, gathering the books in her arms and bringing them to the register. “You need to start that new kid on reading sooner rather than later, so I can keep my shop busy.”

Laura smiles as she follows Judy to the front of the store, letting her hands brush over her stomach.

 

***

 

They technically don’t have the time to relax after Vienna, but Clint manages to sweet talk Fury into allowing them three days off before going back for debriefings, even though both him and Natasha already have plans to be home in two more weeks for Cooper’s birthday party. Natasha’s first through the door when they return to the farm, both of them leaving their bags on the porch in order to have their hands free for the requisite welcome home rituals that they know come with their return.

“Daddy! Daddy daddy daddy! _Tasha_!” Cooper practically barrels down the stairs, flinging himself into Natasha’s arms, and Natasha finds herself laughing as small fingers wrap themselves around her waist. She bends down and picks Cooper up, hugging him tightly.

“Unbelievable,” Clint mutters and Laura grins as she walks out of the kitchen, her hair half falling out of a ponytail.

“At least he asked for you first. And more than once,” Laura points out, still smiling widely. She takes Clint’s face between her palms and kisses him, their noses pressing together in what Natasha assumes should be uncomfortable, but she also knows that’s what they’re used to.

“Negates the purpose of asking if they don’t even come to you first,” he grumbles as Cooper finally stops hugging Natasha and turns to Clint with open arms.

“That’s better,” Clint says, scooping up his son. “How’s my kiddo?”

“Missed you!” Cooper throws his hands around Clint’s neck, and Laura gives him a pointed look.

“Missed you too. Did you get your new books?”

“Mom and I got _three_ books!” Cooper’s talking and breathing fast, as if he’s just ran a marathon. “An’ they’re really big, too!”

“That means they’re getting longer, which means you’re getting better at reading,” Clint says, putting Cooper down. “Hey, you wanna help me bring my stuff inside? I’m pretty sure there might be something in one of my suitcases for you.”

“Of course there is,” Laura mutters under her breath as Cooper follows his dad back outside. Laura returns to the kitchen, where Natasha notices she’s been ready to prepare lunch.

“You okay?”

She hadn’t missed the way Laura had looked a little more emotional during Cooper and Clint’s reunion, though she knows that’s standard: no matter how frequently Clint comes home, Laura will never admit how hard it is to be apart from him. Laura looks a little embarrassed, but shakes her head.

“Of course. I’m fine, Nat. I swear. I just missed you.”

The answer is too smooth for Natasha to believe there’s not something more hidden in the response, but she lets it go because she knows they’ll have more time to talk later. Natasha runs her hand through Laura’s hair, letting her fingers drag through the wavy brown strands until her ponytail comes completely loose, the thin elastic band falling lightly to the ground.

“Softer,” she says quietly, a shiver running through her, as if the touch is something that’s helping her remember what it means to _feel_ again. Laura nods.

“I got it cut earlier this week. They took out a lot of the dead ends --”

Natasha silences her with a quick kiss, and then smiles slowly. “Well, _I_ didn’t change my hair, but I picked up some new tricks while we hid out in that safehouse,” she says casually, keeping her voice low. Laura raises an eyebrow.

“When Clint walks in the door looking like _that_ , I know that you guys had a successful trip.”

“Touche,” Natasha says, kissing Laura again, deciding not to tell her they had opted for one more quickie in the airport bathroom before making their way to the farm. “Let me finish making lunch. You deserve a nap.”

“Oh, no.” Laura puts her hands on her hips. “I will _not_ have you walk into this house after two weeks of being away and offer to work, Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha regards her with what she knows is her best assassin stare. “By command of a SHIELD agent, I _order_ you to go upstairs and take a nap,” she responds, keeping her voice curt. “Or I’ll be forced to report you to a disciplinary hearing.”

“Oh, really?” Laura looks amused but takes the hint, walking out of the room. Natasha watches her go and then finishes laying out the rest of the tupperware bowls containing chicken salad and tuna fish, removing a set of plates from the cupboard and gathering utensils from the drawer.

“Tasha!” Her concentration of peeling back plastic covers is broken as Cooper charges back into the house. “Thanks!”

Natasha looks down at the toy Cooper is brandishing in her direction: a large, intricately crafted super soaker that Natasha finds herself hoping Clint hasn’t taken to filling in the time since they’d come home. She smiles faintly at the memory of talking Clint out of buying yet _another_ collection of books in a different language while they were away, suggesting that they should stop somewhere back in the States where he could pick up something a little more “fun.”

(“Weapons are not _fun_ , Nat.” He had grumbled the words while perusing the store with a crinkled brow reflective of his mood, and Natasha had shrugged indifferently.

“Tell that to the man who would give his son a bow and arrow if it meant that he could get him to use it.”)

“Do me a favor,” she says, regarding Cooper carefully. “Don’t use that in the house, okay? And don’t tell your mom it was my idea.”

“Daddy already told me not to tell mom you thought of it,” he recites solemnly and Natasha nods.

“Good. You wanna help me make lunch?” She’s heard Clint climb the stairs with their bags, and although she feels a hint of lingering jealousy at the alone time he’s getting with Laura, she also figures he’s owed a little bit of privacy with his own wife. She’d certainly occupied him enough in the past few weeks.

“Yeah!” Cooper drags a chair over to the counter while Natasha hands him the bread bag, and he carefully takes out a few slices.

“Where do you go when you go away?” Cooper asks as he lays the bread out on the cutting board. Natasha gives him a sidelong glance.

“It depends,” she says carefully. “Far away places, like the ones that you read about in your stories.”

“And is dad always with you?”

Natasha’s insides coil as she takes a knife and starts slicing lettuce. “Yes,” she says with a nod, unsure of where the conversation is heading. “That’s why he’s my partner. He takes care of me. He makes sure I’m safe so we can come home and be with you and your mom.”

Cooper’s mouth twists into a frown, as if he’s trying to figure out whether he wants to talk or not. “I told mom the other day I wanted to do what you did when I grow up.”

Natasha’s hand stills on a piece of turkey. “Oh?” She turns her head, looking at Cooper. “And what did she say?”

“I dunno.” Cooper shrugs, handing Natasha another piece of bread with all the careful concentration of a six-year-old. “She just said I could ask daddy when he came home. Or you.”

Natasha swallows hard, continuing to make lunch. “You have a lot of time to think about what you want to be when you get older. Sometimes, people even change their careers after they’re adults. Like your dad did.”

“But I wanna be like _you_ ,” Cooper insists and Natasha fights the urge to react, concentrating on her sandwich.

“Why?”

“ _Because_.” Cooper sounds annoyed, like he can’t figure out why Natasha isn’t grasping his logic. “You’re cool. Other moms or dads are like, firefighters or doctors, but you’re cool and you go to cool places.”

Natasha smiles sadly. “It’s more than just going to cool places, Coop,” she says, turning around to face him. Cooper stares at her, asking questions that Natasha wishes she didn’t have to lie to answer. “When you really do decide what you want to be, you should decide for yourself. Not because you think you should be like someone else. Even if you love them.”

Cooper purses his lips, leaning his elbows on the table. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” Natasha says instantly, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. Cooper turns up a heart-shaped face.

“Do you love daddy?”

Natasha sucks in a quiet, sharp breath that she knows sounds louder than it really is, because she’s not quite sure what to say. It’s easy to lie about her job, especially when she knows there’s a reason for doing so -- Cooper didn’t have to know what they really did for a living, at least, not yet. But Natasha finds herself unsure of whether or not she can acutely lie about her feelings for Clint, even if she knows it’s the right thing to do.

“Your dad is very important to me,” Natasha starts, carefully moving the food aside so that she can lean next to Cooper, who is now hunched over.

“But do you _love_ him?” Cooper asks pointedly, with all the insistence of what Natasha knows is his father and mother combined, and Natasha’s heart beats a little faster.

“I love him the same way that I love you,” she says, desperately hoping the six-year-old won’t take her words the wrong way. “You’re both very, very important to me.”

Cooper crinkles his brow, as if he’s trying to take the words and fit them into his small brain in a way that makes sense. “Mommy and daddy get sad when you’re not here.”

Natasha’s chest suddenly hurts to the point of breathlessness, and she vaguely wonders if this is what it feels like to have a heart attack. “I get sad when I’m not here, too,” she admits, running her fingers over unruly hair.

“So then why don’t you _live_ here? Like mommy and daddy do?” Cooper asks the question as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Natasha considers her response.

“Because being a grown-up is complicated,” she says finally. “But just because it’s complicated, that doesn’t mean I love you any less. You know that, right?”

Cooper nods slowly. “I wish you lived here, though. Like when I have questions about things I don’t know. Sometimes mommy can’t help and daddy’s too busy.”

“Hey.” Natasha bumps his shoulder, keeping her voice gentle. “You know that even if I’m not at the house, I’m still here, right? You can _always_ ask me questions.” She thinks a little more. “Maybe we can talk to your dad about setting up a secret word, so if I’m not around and you need me, I can still talk to you.”

Cooper looks intrigued. “Like a code?”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees. “Like a code. Like my job,” she continues, watching Cooper’s face change at the words. “You wanted to be like me, right?”

“Yeah!” Cooper says enthusiastically, and Natasha has to grab his arm to make sure he doesn't fall off the chair.

“So we’ll set up a code. A special code, something for just you and me. Something that your mom won’t even know. It’ll be our secret. And when you want to talk to me, if I’m not at the house, you can tell your dad the code and he’ll make sure that I’m here for you. Okay?”

Cooper smiles, pitching sideways so that he can wrap his thin arms around Natasha’s neck. She catches him easily, cradling his body so that he doesn’t completely fall on the floor.

“Does that make you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Cooper says, his face buried in her hair. “You’re the best, Tasha.”

Natasha smiles, running her fingers over the back of his neck, tracing the small scars of falls and a few stray birthmarks that litter his skin. “I’ll always be here for you,” she promises as the little boy hugs her more tightly, and as she says the words she knows she’s never been more serious about anything in her life. “I swear.”

 

***

 

Dinner that night is longer than usual, with Laura stepping out beforehand for errands and Natasha agreeing to make her famous meatloaf and Clint taking Cooper for their usual walk around the farm. Natasha opens the big bay windows in the kitchen and cooks while breathing in warm spring air, a clear breeze that smells of spices and pine nuts and waterlogged leaves slightly damp from afternoon showers, scents that are mingled with the rustling of charcoal on a neighbor's grill, the faint coughing of a truck as it ambles down the dirt road, the soft whine of a horse from the farm two houses over. Natasha lets the smells and sounds that are so distinctive settle into her lungs while she putters around, closing her eyes every so often and inhaling deeply to take advantage of the quiet. It’s not often that she gets a chance to be truly alone with the atmosphere of the farm surrounding her like a well-loved blanket -- Laura and Clint sometimes left her home for various reasons, and Natasha has spent more than enough time wandering the property by herself, sparring and exercising on the front lawn in the throes of quiet -- but there are few instances where she feels like she can just _be_ , without thinking of another mission she has to run off to or about another job she has to handle.

She’s not quite sure why it’s different this time, considering she knows their time here is fleeting, and maybe it’s because she knows that she’s coming back sooner rather than later. But Natasha finds herself thinking about Cooper’s question more and more, turning it over in her mind. The farm was her home in a way nothing else in her life previously had been, Clint and Laura and Cooper were her home in a way no one else in her life previously had been. Aside from the obvious, why _didn’t_ she live here?

She knows the answer as soon as she asks the question, and as she lets her gaze travel over the faded curtains, stacks of old cookbooks with torn out recipes stuck in between the pages and cluttered cupboards housing antique pottery bowls and fancy china -- all glaring instances of a home that’s lived-in and cozy and has been made so by two people who started a life together long ago -- she feels sad.

“Meditating?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, taking herself out of her trance. “Place, posture, practice, problems,” she recites, turning around and smirking at Clint’s arched brow. “What? I spent some time undercover at a Buddhist Center once. It was enlightening -- no pun intended.”

“Enlightening enough that dinner got sidetracked?”

“Dinner did _not_ get sidetracked,” Natasha retorts, reaching for a mixing bowl. “But if you’re looking for someone to blame, try your oven. It’s been warming forever.”

“Hey, that oven has already been repaired once,” Clint defends, heading to the fridge and taking out a can of beer. He offers it out to Natasha, who shakes her head.

“How was your walk?”

“The usual.” Clint leans against the counter, taking another swig of beer. “Cooper became way too invested in most of the plants and insects and then wouldn’t stop talking or asking about anything, so we barely got around the farm once.” He pauses, looking down and runs a slightly crooked finger over the top of the can, his pointer that Natasha remembers breaking by accident long ago. “It’s nice to be home with him, though.”

“Mmmm.” Natasha sticks her tongue inside her cheek as she bends down to open the oven, releasing waves of heat. “Did he talk about anything else?”

“Huh?” Clint sounds confused and when Natasha meets his eyes, he’s sliding into a chair across from her. “No.” He shakes his head, squinting. “Just asked about his party. Why?”

Natasha opens her mouth and then finds she can’t make herself say the words out loud. “Just wondering,” she says instead, turning back to the oven. She instantly hears Clint moving behind her and prays for once that he won’t try to talk to her.

“Now _this_ is what I love coming home to,” Laura says as she opens the front door, and Natasha takes a moment to silently utter a brief prayer about timing before straightening up and removing Laura’s maroon oven mitts.

“Me? Or my cooking?”

“I didn’t even know you _could_ cook until you stayed over long enough a few years ago,” Laura reminds her and Clint grunts.

“ _I_ didn’t even know she could cook, and I was shot by her.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic.” Natasha huffs out an exasperated sigh as Laura’s face morphs into a bemused grin. “It was a flesh wound. You healed in no time.”

“Yeah, but it still hurt,” Clint grumbles, finishing off his beer and chucking the empty can into the recycle bin, a perfect arched shot. He throws up his arms in victory as he walks out of the kitchen and Laura rubs her forehead with the back of a perfectly manicured hand.

“I married a child.”

“And I’m screwing a child,” Natasha answers bluntly. “What’s your point?”

By the time Cooper comes down for dinner half an hour or so later, Laura’s helped Natasha set the table and Clint has poured juice for Cooper in his favorite Sesame Street glass. Clint and Natasha spend the night fielding stories from their latest travels while Laura looks on, lips pursed in a silent reprimanding when Clint starts to describe some of the finer points of Vienna culture, including their amazing chocolate. After the mess of food and dishes have finally been cleaned up, Laura kisses both of them and heads to the study to finish work while Natasha and Clint settle in to read with Cooper in his room.

“We have time for another,” Cooper says helpfully when Natasha closes the book on the fourth chapter. Clint shakes his head.

“It’s _way_ past your bedtime, kiddo. I’m surprised your mom hasn’t already come up here to yell at me.” Clint leans over and kisses him, and Cooper turns to look at Natasha with sad eyes.

“But you were away for _so_ long, and I didn’t even get to read with you. I _never_ get to read with you,” he says, shoving his lips into an exaggerated pout. Natasha fights back a laugh at the look that could be Clint, if Clint aged backwards at least twenty years.

“Nice try,” she says with an unapologetic look back. “ _But_ you forget that I’m used to that face from your dad all the time, and it never works.”

“She’s right,” Clint admits as Cooper scrunches up his nose and flops back onto the pillow, clearly discouraged.

“Fine.”

“Hey, no guilt trips in this house,” Clint admonishes, folding his arms. “But if you do your chores in the morning, then we’ll read a little more tomorrow after I work on the porch.”

Cooper looks a little put out by Clint’s words and stares up at Natasha hopefully. She shrugs.

“Don’t look at me, Coop. You know that your dad is the one that makes the rules around here.”

“I thought _you_ made the rules when he was away.”

“When he’s _away_ ,” Natasha reminds him, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. Clint rubs Cooper’s shoulder and Cooper heaves out an overly dramatic sigh.

“Not even _one_ more chapter?”

“ _Cooper_ ,” Clint says warningly as he reaches for the switch on the small bedside lamp. “Go to bed.” He walks out of the room and shakes his head as Natasha closes the door.

“Sometimes, that’s the only way to get him to do anything,” Clint says as they enter the bedroom. “Just ignore him and walk away. We’re kind of hoping that he’ll eventually grow out of it, or get the hint.”

Natasha turns around mid-step, putting a finger against her lips. “I wonder where I’ve seen _that_ particular tactic before,” she says sarcastically, and Clint glares at her.

“Knock it off.”

“No.” Natasha strips out of her shirt and bra, reaching for one of Laura’s pajama tops that’s been discarded onto the bedrail. “Cooper definitely inherited The Barton Charm and he’s going to use that to his advantage for the rest of his life, if he can manage it.”

“Look, at least he got _something_ of mine,” Clint grumbles, sitting down on the bed. Natasha slides into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She licks at his ear, her teeth nibbling at his lobe.

“You’re still upset he hasn’t taken to archery? Or are you more annoyed that he hasn’t figured out how to trip down the stairs?” She hears the growl building deep in his throat as her breath tickles the more sensitive parts of his skin and uses the vulnerable noise to her advantage, pushing him back onto the covers.

“You are an evil person, Natasha Romanoff.”

They don’t actually have sex -- Natasha gets away with giving him a hand job while Clint retaliates by pulling down her pants and eating her out until she orgasms -- and by the time Laura walks into the bedroom they’re both sprawled out casually, Clint lying down with one arm thrown casually over his head and Natasha resting comfortably on his body, her head positioned against his legs.

“About time,” Natasha says as Laura closes the door, still slightly out of breath but feeling overly content. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get the three of us alone?”

Laura stares at Natasha, and then at the rumpled bed covers. “Did you --”

Natasha smiles and Laura’s face takes on a look not unlike the one Cooper had given them when he found out he couldn’t force the adults in his life to bend the household rules.

“See what you get when we’re both here? The possibilities are endless,” Natasha says while Clint chuckles quietly. Laura shakes her head and moves slowly towards the bed, smoothing out the covers before sitting down.

“Actually, while I _do_ have you both here, I wanted to talk to you.”

Natasha glances towards Laura curiously. She feels Clint shift beside her as he rolls over, and she can tell from the way he’s breathing that he’s about as clueless as she is regarding what Laura plans to say.

“What’s up, Laur?”

Natasha watches Laura’s face, the way it changes from nondescript emotion to overwhelming glee.

“I’m pregnant.”

“ _What_?” Natasha sits up in surprise as Clint bolts upright at the same time, scrambling off the bed so he can pull her up and hug her.

“Laura -- what? You’re pregnant? You’re really pregnant?”

Laura nods. “I found out two weeks ago,” she says, her voice breaking. “But I wanted to wait until you were home.” She swallows, looking over at Natasha. “Until you were _both_ home.”

Clint laughs again, putting his hands on Laura’s stomach before hugging her tightly and kissing her multiple times. Natasha watches the celebration feeling both happy and wistful, remembering what Clint had told her in Vienna. She knew he loved his job, she knew he loved _her_ , but there was no denying the fact that Laura could have ten kids and each one would make Clint happier than the last.

“Laura,” she says after Clint finally stops showering her with affection, and Laura opens her arms with a smile that’s splitting apart her lips, tears streaking down her cheeks. Natasha breathes out slowly, a dizzying wave of emotion swimming through her body and settling in her eyes as her gaze drops to Laura’s stomach. “Oh, Laura,” she murmurs, blinking back her own tears at the realization of what this means. Laura’s arms wrap tightly around her waist, and then there’s an added pressure as Clint hugs both of them, kissing Natasha and Laura on the head.

“This is a perfect welcome home gift,” he decides. “Better than sex, even. We’re having another kid!” He can’t seem to stop smiling, or for that matter, bouncing; he’s broken away and is moving from one foot to the other in a manner that’s practically childlike.

“Clint told me you were thinking about getting pregnant,” Natasha adds. “After he slept with me, of course.”

Clint makes a face but Laura looks amused, and Natasha feels relieved. It’s been a little slow testing the waters of Laura’s reaction to the fact that Natasha and Clint are sleeping together more often than not, but so far, Natasha’s found Laura to be extremely supportive -- if not a little jealous when she knows she can’t participate.

“There’s...something else.” Laura looks a little apprehensive, staring at the two people in front of her. “Something I’ve been thinking about, since all of this happened. And I don’t even know if it’s the right time. Maybe it’s too early to talk about it, but I thought with everything going on, and with our baby on the way…” She takes a deep breath. “Well, I wanted to talk to my doctor about having you both with me. When I give birth.”

There’s a spell of silence, and Clint breaks it with a small and quiet, “huh.” Natasha swallows uncomfortably as she sinks back down onto the bed.

“You know, most people go to therapy for this kind of thing,” she says finally. “They don’t talk about it with their assassin partners.”

“And most people don’t make out with their husband’s work partners, even if they’re assassins,” Laura responds. “So what’s your point?”

“The point,” Clint interrupts, looking at his wife and then at Natasha, “is that obviously, Laura loves you. She loves you the same way that I do. Why else would she have asked?”

Natasha avoids Laura’s gaze. “Maybe you should think about what you’re asking.”

“I have thought about it,” says Laura with such conviction that Natasha knows it’s the truth, and something she won’t be able to be easily talked out of. “And Clint’s right, that is why I asked.” She walks forward, sitting next to her. “I know you love my husband, Natasha. I know that he’s important to you. But you’re also important to _me_. You think that I want you to be kept out of one of the most significant moments of my life, just because legally, it wouldn’t be doable if we didn’t at least discuss it?”

Natasha sighs quietly, playing with her fingers. “You want me in a room with your newborn. You want me to help you when you hold it and feed it. You want me to watch the birth and be there for its first few hours in the world.”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t want that?” Laura asks bluntly, and Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint that she knows Laura won’t pick up on.

“I just want you to think about what you’re getting yourself into,” Natasha says when she speaks again. “That’s all.” She gets up, and Clint grabs for her hand.

“Hey, Nat. Look, let’s talk about this. Laura’s right, we should all be there when this kid is born. We’re a family, now.”

Natasha looks at Clint’s hand, tight around her wrist and then at Laura, who’s staring at her with eyes that are too bright. “Bathroom first,” she says, pushing her voice into something she hopes masks her emotion, nodding at Laura and Clint before she leaves the room. Once she’s safely closed the door behind her, she lets herself sink to the floor, putting her head in her hands.

“Tash?”

Clint knocks once before he lets himself in and she doesn’t bother to yell at him, because she knows it’s not worth it. She does notice that he locks the door behind him, and it makes her feel a little better: Laura could spar and yell, but she wasn’t going to pick a lock like her husband would. “Hey, you okay?”

It’s a stupid question, but Natasha appreciates that he’s at least bothering to ask. She raises her head and sighs quietly.

“What’s worse? Knowing I want to be in that room with both of you more than anything, or feeling guilty that I have no right to be there in the first place?”

Clint’s quiet for a long time, and then he sits down next to her.

“If this is about what you think of your place --”

“Oh, come on,” Natasha cuts in angrily. “We _both_ know it’s not about that. It’s about the fact that I’m a killer and an assassin, and that your wife wants me in the room when her child is born because she wants to keep making me a part of this family in some way.”

“Yeah, literally the worst thing in the world,” Clint returns sarcastically as Natasha edges away from him in frustration.

“How can I say no, Clint? I _want_ to be there. I love her. I love you. But I…” Natasha stops, composing herself. “You and I both know this is more than me just being in the room. It’s about my past. And it’s about the fact that she wants this to be a thing. Talking about legal restrictions, Clint? That’s practically putting our relationship on a pedestal for the whole world.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I don’t...I don’t think she thinks about it like that, though. She doesn’t expect us to walk into a court and admit that we’re all in a relationship. I mean, aside from me and Laura, we’re not even legally bound in any way. Which I guess is the problem.”

Natasha doesn’t answer, choosing to look down at the tiled floor instead. She thinks if she looks hard enough, she might be able to imagine the spots she knows were once stained with blood, the spots where she and Clint would patch each other up behind closed doors, apologizing profusely only to have Laura wave their words off with the caveat of, if they were bleeding on her floor, at least it meant she knew where they were. There’s an arm around her shoulder suddenly, and Clint’s pulling her in, close against his chest.

“I need her to know what she’s getting into,” Natasha says finally. “Laura’s like you, Clint. She sees the good in people. Sometimes, she doesn’t think about things.”

“My wife doesn’t think about things?” Clint sounds both insulted and annoyed, and Natasha sighs.

“Clint, you know what I mean.” She wants to say the words out loud, that she’s _scared_ more than anything -- scared that by committing to this child’s life, she’ll become the mother that she always felt maybe she _could_ be thanks to Cooper -- the mother that Clint had once told her, however much it had been born out of anger at the time, she could never be. “It’s not like Laura’s sitting around thinking, ‘you know what? Maybe we should make my husband’s assassin partner part of our child’s birth.’”

Clint scoots closer to Natasha, putting his hands on her leg. “Look,” he says quietly. “It’s your choice if you want to be in there. She’s not going to force you into the decision. But if you don’t -- if you want to stay outside, if you want to just stay with Cooper and Laura’s parents when the whole thing finally happens -- then you need to tell her that. If you love her -- if you love _us_ \-- she deserves the truth.”

“I know,” Natasha says, biting down on her lip. She closes her eyes as Clint leans over to kiss her. “Thank you.”

Clint nods, tracing a finger down her cheek, where she realizes more tears have started to fall. “Come out when you’re ready,” he says, getting up from the floor, opening the door and closing it behind him. Natasha lets herself stay in the bathroom awhile longer and then eventually gets up and walks back into the bedroom.

“That was a long time for someone who didn’t take a shower,” Laura says smartly as Natasha enters. She’s sitting at the desk in the corner, writing in her journal, a mug of chamomile tea at her side. Natasha glances at Clint, who’s reading in bed and surreptitiously avoiding the conversation. When Natasha stays silent, Laura closes the journal and puts her pen down, getting up.

“I’m sorry,” Laura says, meeting Natasha in the middle of the room. “If I made you mad.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You didn’t make me mad,” she returns. “I promise. It’s just...you have to understand that no one’s ever asked me to be a part of their lives in this way before. Especially in _this_ way,” she adds, motioning towards Laura’s stomach.

Laura looks sad. “I understand,” she says, taking her hand. “But Natasha, you’re a part of Clint’s life. You have been for a long time. And now you’re a part of mine, and I _want_ you to be a part of our lives in this way. I _love_ you.”

“I know,” Natasha says, hating that she can’t stop herself from showing any visible emotion, because Laura’s words hurt more than she wants to admit. “I know, Laura...I know.” She brings Laura in, folding their hands together, and kisses her gently, letting her lips come to rest on her forehead. “Just do me a favor and be sure. Like you always tell Clint. Be sure that both of us being there with you is something that you want. And be sure that this child’s life is something that you want shared between all of us.” _Forever_. She doesn’t add the last word, but she knows it’s implied.

“I know it’s a responsibility,” Laura replies without hesitation. “But you know it’s what I want. Natasha, you _know_ how much I want this for you. For us.” She looks up and over at Clint, who has put down his book and is watching the conversation carefully. Natasha swallows down a stabbing pain, trying to push the voices of her past out of her mind.

“I love you,” she repeats, as if it’s a mantra to herself, a safe guard she can use to shove against the unyielding thoughts. “Please just know that whatever happens...now or in the future...Laura, I will _always_ love you.”

“Oh, Natasha.” Laura reaches up and brushes a wavy red strand out of her eye. “I know. I know that.”

She’s touching Natasha with a gentleness and a softness that Natasha thinks she might not deserve, but then again, she knows that’s always been Laura -- that Laura had never been someone who had sharper edges, even if she knew how to lose her temper from time to time.

“How do you do it?” she murmurs, almost forgetting the fact Clint is still in the room. Laura hums quietly.

“Do what?”

Natasha takes a steadying breath. “This. How are you such a good person?”

Laura laughs. “I’m only as good as the people in my life, Natasha,” she says as she looks pointedly at her and then at Clint, though Natasha knows she undoubtedly is thinking of her son as well, and maybe her parents. “You never become anything when you’re alone.”

Natasha finds herself robbed of both air and words. “Did your dumb idiot husband tell you that?” she asks when she’s gathered the oxygen to speak, and there’s an indignant and wounded noise behind her.

“Hey!”

This time, when Laura laughs, it sounds a little lighter. “No,” she says, smiling gently. “That’s something I learned from marrying the right man...and falling in love with the right girl.”

Natasha once again realizes that she doesn’t have words to respond, so she lets Laura continue to hold her. Clint watches from the bed, and Natasha lets herself feel safely guarded by two people who care about her more than anyone in the world ever has.

 

***

 

When Laura hits the part of her pregnancy that makes her visibly ill, both Clint and Natasha bear the brunt of dealing with one angry, frustrated and slightly helpless Laura Nicole Barton.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Clint asks from the doorway of the bathroom, after breakfast has been cut short thanks to Laura realizing blueberry waffles are going to have to take a hiatus for at least nine months. Laura shoots him a look that she knows by his expression is more angry than she means it to be.

“No,” Laura mutters, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to go for a walk, Clint. I’m miserable.”

“Come on,” Clint hedges, gesturing wildly. “You’ve been inside a lot lately, and you look terrible. The fresh air might be good for you.”

“I look terrible because I feel terrible, and the fresh air will just make me want to unload all of my breakfast onto the porch,” Laura spits out, breathing through an onslaught of queasiness. She groans to herself. “I never had morning sickness with Cooper. Not once.”

“You technically don’t have it now,” Natasha points out, and Laura knows she’s mostly right -- despite feeling acutely terrible, she hasn’t actually thrown up, though that fact doesn’t make her feel any better.

“I feel like I’m going to vomit at any moment. I can’t even stand the smell of coffee.” As if to prove her point, she leans over the toilet again and dry heaves relentlessly, though nothing comes up. Natasha bends down helps Laura sit back, pressing the warm washcloth she’s been holding to her face.

“I can’t believe you’re spending your free morning sitting with me while I pathetically hug a toilet bowl,” Laura says morosely and Natasha shakes her head.

“Consider this payback for all the times you’ve given up your evenings to patch us up,” she says as she wipes down her forehead and Laura tries to smile.

“This child better be worth it,” she manages before she leans over again, overwhelmed with uncontrollable nausea.

“I’m assuming the sex was at least worth it,” Natasha offers and Clint grins in satisfaction from the doorway.

“Oh, yeah. Trust me. The sex was _definitely_ worth it. Laura’s a beast when she wants to make a baby.”

“I’m going to kill you. _You’re_ not the one who has to carry this child,” Laura retorts. Natasha pushes back her hair, which has become sweaty and matted.

“I could punch him in the stomach a couple of times, maybe give him some of those special drugs we found in Paris, if it makes you feel better,” she suggests with a grin, kissing a spot on Laura’s eyebrow.

“As his wife, I give you permission to do both of those things. I want payback for the fact that he put this baby in my body, because all he got for _his_ troubles was a really good orgasm.”

“Three,” Clint says proudly as Natasha speaks at the same time, turning around with a smirk.

“Done and done.”

Clint throws up his hands. “Jesus, _really_?”

Natasha shrugs and Laura leans over the toilet again, and Cooper yells something from outside the bathroom. Clint shakes his head, opening the door to attend to his son.

“Fine. I give up.”

Around mid-June, Clint gets called back unexpectedly to New York for training purposes. Laura knows that ordinarily she wouldn’t mind as much, because Clint’s promised it’s an in-and-out visit, but she’s also conveniently scheduled her first trimester ultrasound at the exact time that Clint’s scheduled to be called away.

“I don’t know if I can change it,” she says in frustration as they fold laundry with the windows open, in an attempt to air out the house. Natasha’s outside with Cooper, tossing his favorite ball around. “My parents already promised to babysit and it’s hell trying to get an appointment that works with my schedule.”

Clint looks up. “So can’t you like, take a day off or something? I mean, it’s only summer school.”

Laura rolls her eyes, because even though the school year is technically over, she’d taken on a few extra courses at Iowa State mostly to keep herself busy. With Cooper being older and having become involved in more after-school activities, not to mention playdates, Laura’s found that she actually has the time to devote to teaching and grading.

“I can’t cancel on my students, Clint. Besides, these kids are so dedicated to their education they’d probably riot if I told them we couldn’t discuss organic chemistry for a day.”

Clint chuckles. “So don’t change it,” he replies as he shakes the wrinkles out of a shirt. “Keep the appointment. Maybe you can take Nat instead.”

“But you won’t be there,” Laura says, and even saying the words out loud make her feel upset. “Don’t you want to be there?”

“Of _course_ I do, but I don’t have a choice,” Clint says, looking pained. “And besides, this isn’t the big ultrasound where we find out the sex or anything. You’re just going in for a routine check-up to make sure everything’s okay, and, you know, confirm you’re actually pregnant. The normal procedure. Remember how it was with Cooper?”

“I remember crying,” Laura returns. “At the real ultrasound, when we found out the sex.”

Clint smiles. “If you really want, put me on speaker or something. But, I dunno, Laur. Maybe it’s a good thing. It’ll give Natasha a chance to be alone with you and get a little experience when it comes to this whole baby thing.”

“If she even wants to go,” Laura reminds him, reaching for one of Cooper’s baseball shirts.

“She’ll go. Like I said -- maybe it’ll be good for her.”

Laura sighs, watching as he continues to grab clothes from the bed and sort them into neat piles, ones she knows will inevitably go to hell when he tries to be helpful and shove them all into the same drawer. Later, while Clint is reading to Cooper in bed, Laura approaches Natasha, who is curled up on the couch reading.

“I have a favor to ask,” Laura starts slowly, and Natasha puts down her book with an eyebrow raise.

“What _kind_ of favor?”

Laura locks into her gaze. “Clint needs to go back to New York, and my ultrasound is scheduled for next week. I’m not sure I can change it and I don’t really want to go alone, so I thought maybe you could come with me.”

Natasha’s staring at Laura in silence, and Laura clears her throat quietly. “I mean, if you want,” she adds after a long pause. Natasha puts down her book.

“Come with you? To the ultrasound?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Laura says with a shrug. “I promise. We don’t find out the sex or anything. It’s mostly to confirm that I really do have a baby growing inside me. And to track a due date, and that kind of stuff. It’s quick and painless. But...I would really like someone there.” She sits down and takes Natasha’s hand. “I’d really like _you_ there.”

Natasha’s quiet again, and Laura watches as the other girl searches her face with a look that makes Laura a little uncomfortable, like she’s one of Natasha’s targets, like she’s searching for some hidden message that might prove Laura’s being less than honest with her.

“Okay,” Natasha says after far too long, and Laura’s startled at how quickly the conversation has gone, given that she’d absolutely expected Natasha to put up a fight.

“Okay?”

Natasha shrugs. “You want me there, and I’m not about to let you go alone, anyway.” She picks up her book again. “So, yes. I’ll go with you.”

Laura smiles and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly as her lips brush Natasha’s skin, and she feels the sharp pressure of cheek bones as Natasha also smiles.

“For you, Laura? Anything.”

 

***

 

The day of the ultrasound, Laura takes Natasha and Cooper out for breakfast at the local diner before dropping Cooper off at her parents’ house for most of the day. Clint calls early from New York, while they’re still in the car.

“And don’t forget to send me the picture,” Clint says before he hangs up the phone. “I want to see that little Barton bean.”

“That ‘little Barton bean’ will look exactly the same as Cooper did. Like a bean,” Laura responds, rolling her eyes, but even she can’t help the excited tingling sensation happening in her stomach. It’s laughable to her how much this experience of a second child is so much more comfortable and relaxed, in almost every single way.

“And tell Natasha she’s not allowed to make fun of it. She finds amusement in sentimental things.”

“I do not,” Natasha mumbles from the passenger seat, and Laura hides a smile. When they arrive at the hospital, Laura notices Natasha finally _does_ look visibly uncomfortable. She hangs back by the car, until Laura comes up next to her and squeezes her side.

“Natasha?”

“Just thinking,” Natasha says, staring up at the building. “I’m used to being somewhere like SHIELD. Civilian hospitals like this are...strange to me.”

Laura feels there’s probably something more that she’s not saying, but pushes it from her mind. “Come on,” she says instead, tugging at her hand. “They’re not all bad, I promise. Probably more amusing than SHIELD hospitals, given the amount of people they have to see on a daily basis.”

Natasha lets Laura lead her into the building and upstairs to reception, where Laura checks in and makes herself comfortable in the hard waiting room chairs, until she’s called back to the exam room.

“Well, long time no see,” says Dr. Greer, when she enters with a smile. “I guess you decided to have another.”

Laura laughs. “Apparently. Blame my husband, if you can remember his face at our last ultrasound.”

Dr. Greer raises an eyebrow. “I remember a lot of things about my patients, Mrs. Barton, but I don’t think I could ever forget that reaction.” She glances over at Natasha, noticing the other girl for the first time, and looks a little surprised but offers out her hand. Laura clears her throat.

“Dr. Greer, this is Natasha. She’s my --”

“Friend,” Natasha cuts in, leaning forward and moving her chair a little closer to Laura’s. “Clint was called away to work, unfortunately, so he couldn’t be here.”

“Oh, I see.” Dr. Greer looks a little disappointed. “Well, I’m glad you at least have someone here with you, Laura. It’s always good to have support.”

“I know,” Laura says with a small smile, looking up at Natasha as Dr. Greer goes through the motions of putting gel on Laura’s stomach and moving the wand around. It feels strangely intimate to have Natasha present, watching something that Laura knows most people only share with their husbands or their siblings, or someone else of equally close relation. Laura knows she considers Natasha all of those things, even if there’s no legal documentation or blood ties to prove it.

“You’re a few weeks along, it looks like, so we can probably expect a due date around the beginning of January,” Dr. Greer says. Laura groans inwardly.

“Pregnant all through the summer and then the winter. Great.”

Natasha shoots her a look that plainly asks if she wants to contest being uncomfortable and pregnant during the summer when she’s undergone worse things on a daily basis, and Laura wants to remind her that not everyone was born with the ability to sew themselves up with no anesthetics.

“And perfectly healthy, it looks like.” Dr. Greer smiles, making a few notes. “I’ll make sure we get a good sonogram photo so you can show your husband what he’s missed.” She switches off the machine and takes a tissue, wiping Laura’s stomach clean. “If you want to meet me in my office, we can talk a little more. You can come, too,” she adds, looking at Natasha. “Congratulations, again.”

Laura nods, readjusting her shirt as Dr. Greer leaves the room. Natasha gets up from her chair and walks over to the ultrasound instruments, fingering them with a curious and hesitant look on her face.

“You okay?” Laura asks as she sits up.

Natasha nods. “I guess it’s still a little strange to me,” she says. “Watching other people touch your body like that.”

“Oh.” Laura furrows her brow, touching her own stomach, suddenly understanding where Natasha's hesitancy might come from. “I’m guessing you never really had control over your body, did you? With your past?”

Natasha laughs shortly. “No, not really,” she admits. “I didn’t have control of anything, but my body was the worst. They could do whatever they wanted to me...and they did.” She shrugs, as if the words are more like a memory she’s trying to forget instead of something potentially terrible. “I would have never let anyone touch me the way that doctor was touching you. I didn’t trust them.”

Laura’s heart goes out to Natasha. “It must have been hard,” she says slowly. “When you came here. Seeing all of this.”

“Not with you,” Natasha says almost instantly. “It never felt that way with you.” Natasha’s face is defiant, full of truth, but she’s talking too fast, as if she’s trying to convince herself of her words. Laura reaches forward without hesitation and grabs for Natasha’s hand, placing it over her still-flat stomach. She feels Natasha’s entire body tense up, but doesn’t let go and after a few moments, she moves Natasha’s hand across her belly, up and down, imagining the other girl touching her when she’s started to grow a thick swell of sensitive skin.

“I’m giving you permission,” she says quietly. “You can touch me, Natasha. I love you, and I trust you.”

Natasha allows Laura to move her hand and eventually, her fingers relax, spreading against Laura’s skin in a way that makes her tremble.

Natasha doesn’t say thank you, but Laura sees it in her eyes.

 

***

 

At some point two months later, Clint arrives back at SHIELD from a solo mission that he’d rather forget.

He’d survived the encounter okay -- _okay_ being, as Laura would categorize it, no broken bones or internal bleeding or anything else that would earn him a scolding. But he’s pretty sure he has a lingering concussion and at least one bruised rib, both of which are confirmed when he gets checked out by Medical. He expects to find Natasha waiting for him in his room, possibly ready to yell at him for being later than usual with his return thanks to his hospital detour, but when he opens the door to his quarters he’s surprised to find it empty. His bedding is a little rumpled, but otherwise it looks like no one’s been in his room since he’d left.

Clint frowns and goes to check Natasha’s room, which is also empty. A quick check in the gym finds that unoccupied as well, and most of the SHIELD staff sign-ins don’t show her name.

“Hey, Rumlow.” He approaches the man sitting on the edge of his desk, drinking coffee while reading a report. “You seen Romanoff?”

Rumlow glances up. “Your Russian puppy? Haven’t seen her since yesterday morning when she cut me in the cafeteria line.”

Clint rolls his eyes, figuring it’s not worth it to indulge in Rumlow’s idiocy. “Thanks,” he mutters, turning back down the hall. He wanders for a little bit before heading back to his room, and then picks up his phone.

“Hey,” Clint says carefully when Laura answers. “Just wondering...Natasha hasn’t come by the house lately, has she?”

“Natasha? No.” Laura sounds distracted. “She’s not with you?”

Clint hesitates, unsure of what to say, while his mind spins with worries and thoughts. “She was supposed to be here when I came back from Latvia, but no one here has seen her.”

“Well, I haven’t seen her for three weeks,” Laura says, before pausing. “Clint. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to let his uncertainty show through his voice. “Everything’s fine. I’ll be home tomorrow morning. Love you.”

“Okay.” Laura sounds a little suspicious, but Clint can tell she’s also probably trying to deal with something involving Cooper, based on the background noise, and therefore probably not paying all that much attention to the conversation. “Love you too.”

Clint hangs up the phone, and then throws it on the bed. Natasha not being at the farm wasn’t strange, but Natasha disappearing without anyone knowing _was_ , in the same way that Natasha disappearing without leaving Clint some kind of breadcrumb or a message was. He sits down, running a hand through his hair. He has no idea why he has such an uneasy feeling about her disappearance, but there’s a definite pit in his stomach, an innate sensation that he doesn’t feel like he can ignore.

He’s not sure what causes him to look over at his pillow but when he does, he notices a crumpled piece of paper sticking out from underneath the fabric. Clint reaches over curiously, plucking it away with his fingers -- perhaps Natasha had left a note after all, and all his worries were for nothing. Clint smoothes out the paper which is blank on one side, though on the other side is a small symbol similar to Natasha’s signature hourglass. He feels the crease in his brow deepen as he squints at it, trying to remember where he’s seen it before, because it looks slightly familiar but not entirely.

“Shit, shit, _SHIT_!”

He curses out loud, his brain snapping the pieces together almost immediately, and grabs his laptop from where it’s been lying underneath piles of unwashed clothes. Flipping it open, he starts up the tracing programs, and while the searches run he grabs for his phone again.

“Get me Nick Fury,” Clint says, already halfway to the other side of the room to grab his bow, which he’s just put away. “And while you’re at it, I need access to anything that SHIELD has involving Ivan Petrovich and the Red Room, and anyone that came out of the program. Especially someone named Oksana Musaelyan.”

Clint waits while the call switches to a holding beep, watching as all the searches come up with a _0% MATCHES FOUND_ box. He sticks the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, pulls up a different program, and starts typing aliases instead.

 

_SEARCH: Laura Mathers_

_< NO RESULTS FOUND>_

 

_SEARCH: Nadine Roman_

_< NO RESULTS FOUND>_

 

_SEARCH: Natalie Rushman_

_< NO RESULTS FOUND>_

 

Clint closes his eyes as the holding beep continues to drone in his ear. Natasha was a spy through and through, and Clint knew it was unlikely she would use her _actual_ name on the run...unless she wanted to make sure she drew Oksana out. Oksana, who wouldn’t have known the names Natasha had been over the years after she left the Red Room, and would only know the one that she appropriated for herself after she shed Natalia Romanova. He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and types again.

 

_SEARCH: Natasha Romanoff_

_< PLEASE WAIT...WORKING>_

_< MATCH: CONFIRMED>_

_< RESULTS: ONE>_

_< LOCATION: KELETI RAILWAY STATION>_

 

He has less than ten seconds to process the words on the screen before Fury’s voice comes over the line.

“Agent Barton?”

“Sir.” Clint switches ears on the phone when he hears his boss’ voice. He types in a few more words, zeroing in on the results match and then closes down the laptop. “Sir, I need your help and I need you to get me to Budapest, right now.”

Fury’s tone turns from curious to annoyed. “ _Budapest_? Barton, what the hell --”

“It’s Natasha.” Clint looks down at the symbol on the paper again, the symbol he remembers so clearly from when Natasha showed him the burn on her lower back, the one that came from Oksana branding her. “I need to get to Natasha. I think she’s in trouble.”

 

***

 

Budapest is just as unforgiving as Natasha remembers.

It’s too pretty for its own good and the glitz and glamour of the foreign country makes Natasha’s skin crawl; the last time she had been here, her job had been to dispatch a family who had been connected to one of Ivan’s past jobs. Before that, it had been to take care of one of her old colleagues. Natasha’s shocked at how vividly she can still remember walking down the sunny streets of the city, passing cafes and shops and smiling tourists while wiping blood on her dark pants -- the blood of the people whose bodies she had just stabbed repeatedly, and then thrown over the balcony window for good measure. Afterwards, she had ducked into a small coffee shop and ordered a latte, read a few chapters of _War & Peace_, and then continued on with her day as if it were any other.

If Natasha had her way, she wouldn’t have wanted to return to Budapest unless she absolutely had to, or unless she was with Clint. But when the message -- the symbol on a small piece of paper -- had made its way to her via a SHIELD agent who Natasha had to fight against her morals not to kill out of instinct, she knew she couldn’t ignore it. If Oksana knew enough to have figured out that Natasha was embedded in SHIELD, Natasha knew she had to know about other things in her life -- and she’s unsure how far her former friend would be willing to go to prove that knowledge.

Natasha’s also not dumb. This was a test -- a first move, one that Natasha had retaliated with by taking off and using her real name and not an alias, since Oksana likely wouldn’t know any other name she’d used over the years. Budapest was the base, the place she knows they would both remember from the first time they were sent into the world together, Oksana as her mentor and Natasha as her protege. And she also knows that this time, she’s ready to walk into a line of fire: to kill, to take the shot she didn’t take so many years ago.

Oksana was drawing her out, and there would be no cat and mouse game anymore. It would end, for real.

Natasha tries not to feel guilty at the fact that she had left without trying to involve Clint, and feels even worse when she thinks about Laura. But Clint wouldn’t hesitate to put himself in danger, and Natasha knows she couldn’t have said anything to Laura -- especially now that Laura was pregnant again. If she was going to be read the riot act about how she needed to tell people when she was doing something dangerous, it would be worth it as long as Clint’s family was safe.

She arrives with enough time to acclimate herself before taking off again; Budapest was the base but District 8 was where Natasha knew the pin had been dropped. The neighborhood had been barely up and coming the last time Natasha was here, a place tourists would never have flocked to thanks to its poverty and its reputation for bad crime. Now, Natasha finds herself walking slowly as she weaves in and out of crowds that are stopping to look at the ancient architecture, newly built restaurants and cafes. It’s unnerving to see so much change, and she fights off a lingering chill, because she knows Budapest isn’t the only thing that’s changed since the last time Natasha was here.

Like most buildings in the area known as the Palace Neighborhood, Dessewffy Palace had once been grand and inviting, though Natasha never knew it in that way. It had already been on its way towards gentrification when she first visited, but it had enough of its charm left that Natasha could practically imagine the royal families of the 1800’s building their power into the walls, ornate architecture and paintings that told stories of their twisted pasts. The building that Natasha is looking at now, when she stops in front of its double doors and wrought iron gate, has half its front obscured by a mesh net and a few protective barriers. Natasha’s lips tug into a small grin at the sight; Clint probably wouldn’t care about the history of the place but she knows he _would_ have an absolute field day analyzing the construction. She shakes him out of her mind as she enters, finding that the front door opens easily, and she’s not surprised -- no one would think to trespass here. She keeps one hand on the gun in her back pocket as she moves through the foyer, her eyes searching each corner and every lingering shadow.

“It’s quite a shame that it took tourists so long to appreciate the gems of District 8. The Astro-Hungarian Empire built more than thirty palaces and mansions before World War I,” a quiet, accented voice intones from somewhere to the left of her, and Natasha stills.

“I wasn’t aware I flew all the way to Budapest for a history lesson,” she says as she turns around. She’s talking to herself, or that’s what it feels like, since she can’t see Oksana but can hear where her voice is coming from.

“History is worthless unless you are living it,” Oksana says casually. “The last time we were here, we added to its pages.”

“I’m not sure I would call murdering diplomats and children a contribution to history,” Natasha responds levelly and when she blinks, Oksana is standing in front of her, as if she’s appeared out of thin air like some sort of magic trick.

“So much compassion. It pains me to see how much you have changed, my little Natalia.”

Natasha narrows her gaze. “Not yours. And not so little anymore.”

“No.” Oksana looks thoughtful. “I guess not. Especially since you never killed me when you had the chance.”

Natasha’s heart beats faster but she keeps her face neutral, even as Oksana smiles wider, as if she knows she’s hit a chord with her words.

“Oh, don’t worry, little spider. I was going to track you eventually, though I didn’t know you were there at the time. But I found out afterwards. You seem to recall that there are ears everywhere. Ivan may be gone, but his legacy lives on.”

“From who?” Natasha spits out. “You? More girls that are brainwashed and thrown into the world, like wolves?”

“It is a good analogy, is it not?” Oksana cocks her head slightly. “Wolves, you know. They’re dangerous. And they are good at killing.”

“What do you want?” Natasha asks, ignoring the comment and the question. Oksana smiles again.

“I think you know.”

“I know you want to kill me,” Natasha acknowledges. “But you haven’t, yet. So what else do you want, Oksana?”

“Mmmm.” Oksana nods. “Very well. Since you seem so intent on an answer, and you did travel all the way here to meet me. I want to know _why_ you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.”

“It’s none of your business why I didn’t kill you,” Natasha returns evenly. “I guess I was feeling generous.”

“Generous? Natalia Romanova, the greatest Red Room graduate, was feeling _generous_? Usually, that means you’re giving someone four stab wounds instead of two.” She taps a booted toe against the floor, a drumbeat that sounds like a death march. “What was it really, Natasha? Was it that partner of yours?”

“He had nothing to do with it,” Natasha replies quickly, and Oksana raises an eyebrow so slowly, Natasha wonders if she _has_ perfected magic, among her other skills.

“Really,” she says, and something in her voice makes Natasha feel uneasy. “You can come out now, archer. You _clearly_ had nothing to do with it.”

Natasha’s heart leaps into her throat and stays there while her head spins. _No_. No, Oksana couldn’t have gotten Clint here. Clint had been away on his own mission when she had left, she had known where he was and there was no way Oksana could have been in two places at once. There was no way Clint could be here.

Except he is here, stepping out of the shadows, his bow raised and nocked with what she recognizes as a poison-tipped arrow. Natasha hardens her gaze, angry and terrified at the same time.

“Did you --”

“Oh, Natasha.” Oksana laughs shrilly and loudly, an almost maniacal giggle that sounds out of place in the standoff. “Don’t be so silly. I wouldn’t kidnap your boyfriend like that. Not when I’m here for _you_. I found him wandering around Budapest and made sure he knew how to track me. He’s definitely not as good at this spy thing as you are.”

“That’s because I’m not a spy,” Clint says, keeping his bow steady. “I’m a marksman. And I could kill you with one shot, because I never miss.”

“Agent Barton -- that is your name, isn’t it?” Oksana doesn’t wait for a response before she continues. “We _all_ could kill each other with one shot. That’s what makes this _fun_. The question is, who will be the first man down? Or the first girl down.” She winks playfully at Natasha, and Natasha clenches her teeth.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“I doubt that,” Oksana says, and then her mouth twists into something evil, something chilling. “I know about him, you know. I know that he has a family.”

Natasha feels the air leave her body but remains impassive, refusing to let Oksana know how much her words are affecting her. _This is what she wants_ , Natasha reminds herself. This is what they had been trained for: to break each other. To find weaknesses and vulnerabilities and use those things to break down their opponents.

“A wife, and a child. Perhaps another on the way?”

Natasha wants to look at Clint but she also knows that doing so will give Oksana exactly what she wants. “Like I said. None of your business.”

“But I _need_ to know, little spider. Is that why you didn’t kill me the first time? Were you afraid to go soft? Afraid that a family you never had wouldn’t love you anymore? You never did believe in love.”

“Love is for children,” Natasha replies coldly. “Nothing that anyone ever gave me in the Red Room could be called love.” She’s vibrating with anger now, trying to keep herself calm.

“I should feel sorry for you,” Oksana says, eyeing her with a listless shrug. “But we’ve already put this off too long. I should’ve been on a plane back to the United States by now.”

Natasha snorts unceremoniously and she can almost hear the pull of Clint’s bow next to her, as his fingers tighten around the string, ready to take a shot at any moment.

“So is this how it ends?”

Oksana looks amused. “Is this how what ends?”

“Us,” Natasha says bluntly. “After years of training and fighting, learning to be the best assassins in the world, giving up our morals and lives, it’s just one against one with a single gunshot, like an old fashioned duel?”

Oksana smiles. “I didn’t say it would be old fashioned,” she says casually and after that, everything seems to happen in slow motion. Oksana drops her gun unexpectedly, pulling a knife out of her coat, and she throws it at Clint’s middle with surprisingly brute force. Natasha, who knows too much about how people in the Red Room have been taught to throw knives, watches in horror as the blade sinks into Clint’s body. He jerks in shock and then crumples to the ground almost instantly, his bow clattering to his side.

Natasha wastes no time discharging nearly all of her bullets, firing over and over at Oksana, who is perhaps too caught up in her own amusement to expect any kind of retaliation. She doesn’t bother to wonder if Oksana is actually dead before she rushes over to Clint, but she does take a second to glance down as she passes, finding that her former friend’s lifeless eyes are staring up at the ceiling, her mouth half open in preparation to ask a question Natasha knows she’ll never hear. Natasha drops to her knees besides Clint, who she suddenly realizes isn’t moving.

“Clint,” she says loudly, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him firmly as more blood oozes out of the wound in his stomach. She tries to keep her voice from slipping into hysteria. “Clint, come on. Wake up. _Wake up, please_.”

“Ugh.” His eyes flutter open slowly, and Natasha can see that his gaze is clearly unfocused, but at least it’s something that proves he’s still breathing. She puts her hands on his chest and looks down at his stomach, trying to figure out what to do. Blood is dripping steadily, almost too fast, and Natasha can tell it’s bad but she has no idea _how_ bad. She doesn’t want to pull the knife out if it’s going to cause further bleeding, especially since she has nothing with her to help stop it. On the other hand, Natasha knows Oksana’s skill. She knows that like Clint, she never misses unless she wants to. She knows that there’s the very real chance the knife is lodged into a major artery, and that there’s internal bleeding that’s worse than what she’s seeing.

Natasha blinks back tears as her partner lies in front of her, bleeding out, and for the first time in her life she feels utterly helpless and alone, out of her element and unsure of what to do. She wishes she could call Fury or Hill, she wants to call Laura and then have Laura hold her until she feels like she has control of the world again, and she wonders if this is how Laura had felt the first time she brought Clint home, ironically with a wound not unlike this one, though much less severe.

“Don’t pull it,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, and she tries not to pay attention at how slow his breathing is becoming.

“What?” Natasha leans forward, making sure he can see her face and lips. “Clint, what?”

“Don’t pull...leave...keep bleeding…”

“Clint, if I don’t take that knife out, you’re going to die,” she says, trying not let her voice break over the words.

“Didn’t hit...maybe nicked artery...”

Natasha wants to scream and sob at the same time. _Stupid stubborn fucking partner_. It was like years ago all over again, when he fell through that goddamn house and then insisted Natasha take him home instead of taking him to a hospital.

“How do you know?” She puts a hand on the side of his face, trying to help him focus.

“Just do,” he mutters. “Can feel. Need help.”

 _No shit_ , Natasha thinks, trying to figure out what her options are. Calling an emergency line would compromise them, and SHIELD didn’t know she was here -- her _or_ Clint, she knows, because she can’t imagine he would have taken off to help her like this with anyone’s permission. She knows him too well.

“Call Fu...call.”

“Fury?” Natasha’s heartbeat races and she leans over again. “Does Fury know you’re here? Clint….Clint!” He’s stopped talking again and she slaps his face, not caring about the mark she’s probably left. She’d bruise his whole face if she had to, if it helped keep him alive. “Clint, does Fury know you’re here?”

“Yeah,” he manages and Natasha thinks she’s never been so glad to hear those words. She pulls her phone from her pocket and punches in a few numbers with shaking fingers.

“Romanoff?”

“Sir.”

“Romanoff, where the _hell_ are you?”

“Sir, I need you to get me extraction right now,” Natasha says, ignoring the question. “Barton’s down.”

Fury goes silent on the other end of the line. “You two. You two, I swear to _god_ , are going to put me in an early grave.”

“Nick, please,” Natasha implores, her voice growing urgent, and she knows she’s exhibiting a sense of desperation she would normally never allow herself to show. “Get us extraction as soon as you can. I’ll explain everything. I promise, but Clint is down. He needs medical attention and he needs it _now_ or he’s going to die.”

When Fury speaks again, his voice has changed from annoyed to curt. “Leave your phone connected, we’ll track it so we can get your exact location. I’m going to pull my men out on this one, alpha code four double zero. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He pauses. “Keep him alive, Romanoff.”

Natasha nods to herself and puts the phone on the ground, leaving the line open so the tracer can finish. She realizes Clint’s closed his eyes again, and she shakes him once more.

“Hey, hey.” Natasha watches his eyes flutter open. “Stay with me, okay, Clint? You can’t go to sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you alive,” Natasha answers. “And because your wife needs you alive. You need to go home to Laura. She’s pregnant, remember? You have another kid coming, and that kid needs a father.”

Clint’s response to that is to squint slightly and Natasha recognizes the way his body is starting to shake as a sign that he’s probably going into shock. She curses herself for not having anything except her uniform handy that she can use to keep him warm.

“Tell me about Cooper,” she says, stroking his hair, trying to keep him talking, because it’s about the only thing she can do until help comes at this point. “I never knew how he got his name. You never told me.”

Clint doesn’t answer and Natasha’s about to slap him again before he starts talking slowly, as if the effort to do so is taking up all of his energy and oxygen.

“Laura...heard it at...store. Random kid. Helped him. She liked it.”

“So your wife named your first child after a random kid? That doesn’t sound like Laura,” Natasha says, trying not to pay attention to the blood that seems to be escaping from his body much too quickly.

“Laura...smart...smarter than me.”

“Everyone is smarter than you, dumbass.” She tries to keep her voice light but she knows she can’t help her worried tone, though she doubts he’ll even notice in the state that he’s in. “If you were smarter, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Sorry.”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say to that, so she lies down next to him, pressing herself as close as she can to his body without touching his wound.

“Tell me about Laura,” she says, leaning over so she can speak into his ear, ensuring that he hears her. “Why do you love her?”

“Pretty...makes me feel happy...different.”

“She makes me feel different, too,” Natasha says, running her hands through his hair. “Like someone unlocked something inside of me. Like someone made me feel like I was whole again. The way she smiles…”

“Smiled...like that too. First day we met. Like the sun,” says Clint, and Natasha’s stomach churns. It’s a good analogy for Laura, albeit a cliche one. But it was true: Laura was warm and inviting and when you saw her or when you kissed her, she made you feel like your whole world was brighter, like there was a reason for living when there were clouds that kept pushing in and trying to smother you with darkness.

“Like no one I’ve ever met. ‘Cept her. And you.”

“I could say the same about you,” Natasha says gently. “I never thought I would meet anyone like you. And then I met you, and I met your family, and I became a real person with real meaning. And I fell in love with you.”

“Like...me and Laura…” Clint says faintly, groaning through pain. “Hey, I know...can you tell...that I love her.”

“I will not,” Natasha says sharply as a chill runs through her body, realizing that once upon a time she probably _would_ have accepted his words and taken them to heart, a byproduct of the job they had willingly signed up for. Now, she can’t even think of him saying them out loud. “I’m not telling Laura anything except how I had to save your ass again, because you’re going home. So don’t you _dare_ think you can die on me, Clint Barton. You’ve survived worse, and you’ve always pulled through. You don’t have those nine lives for nothing.”

“Got you to save me,” he mutters and Natasha leans down, kissing him on the lips.

“Think of it as calling in your debt,” she says tightly as he closes his eyes again. She pushes closer as he shivers, startling slightly when her phone crackles to life beside her.

“Romanoff?” The voice on the other end of the call, when she answers, is gruff and curt. “This is Agent Rumlow. We’re coming for you and we’ve got evac and medics as requested. How bad is it?”

Natasha glances at the wound, and at the blood steadily dripping. “Bad,” she admits. “Stomach wound, knife to the abdomen. Possible internal bleeding, and I don’t know what else.”

“Got it,” Rumlow says, and she can hear him relaying her words to who she assumes are medics in the background. “Just hold tight.”

Natasha drops the phone and bites down on a cry as she kisses Clint. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispers, running her hands along the side of his face, trying to make herself believe her own words. _Stupid, stupid idiot_. She presses her fingers to his throat, panicking slightly when she doesn’t feel anything until she digs her fingers harder against the flesh. His pulse is faint and slow, but it’s there.

“You are, without a doubt, the stupidest man I’ve ever met,” Natasha says as she stares at her partner’s broken body, protecting him with her own, trying to ignore the fact that her past is lying not two feet in front of her while she clings to the present. “And I hate that I love you.”

 

***

 

Everything hurts.

It’s not the first thought that Clint wants to realize when he becomes aware of his surroundings, but it’s the only one that his mind can focus on. His body feels like it’s on fire, every inch of his skin and limbs filled with searing pain, and when he swallows his throat burns like it’s coated with flames.

“Clint.”

There’s a hand on his face and it doesn’t quite take away the pain, but it does give his brain something to focus on besides the discomfort. He struggles to open his eyes but closes them when he's met with blinding light that causes his head to spin so much that he thinks he might be sick.

“Clint, can you hear me?”

 _Natasha_. It’s Natasha’s voice, he knows that, he would recognize it even if he was dying. Dimly, he realizes that’s probably not the best analogy to make right now, and he manages to nod with his eyes still closed.

“Can you talk?”

That one’s a little more difficult. He probably could if he wanted to, but his mouth feels like it’s filled with mothballs and there’s an anvil sized lump sitting in his throat that’s making it hard to breathe, much less speak. The effort seems almost not worth it, if nothing else because he’s so close to unconsciousness that he could probably just forget about trying to wake up altogether.

Then again, he knows Natasha would probably kill him if he didn’t at least try. And Laura would yell at him about it for days. He wasn’t dumb, he knew how the people who loved him acted when he tried to take the easy way out of things.

“Na --” That’s about as far as he gets before his body rebels against him, the words dropping off as he loses his voice completely. The anvil lodged in his throat suddenly attempts to swim up his windpipe, causing him to gasp and then cough relentlessly, and his entire body spasms with pain.

There’s an instant hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and then the sensation of something thin being pushed through his lips. He attempts to swallow and as he does so, he finds himself pulling in small sips of water, which help relieve his dry and burning throat.

“Okay,” Natasha says gently as she removes the straw, running a hand through his hair. “Breathe, Clint. You’re okay.”

He concentrates on her voice as he tries to open his eyes again, this time finding that he can at least squint enough to make out her face without being blinded.

“Scared you,” he croaks before coughing again. To her credit, Natasha looks relieved rather than upset.

“Well, that goes without saying.”

She looks terrible, which he knows is saying something considering he’s seen Natasha when she’s stayed up with him in hospitals before and when she’s stayed up at the farm due to nightmares. Her hair is a messy tangle of misshapen curls, as if they’ve been slept on the wrong way and then not washed for days; her clothes are rumpled and her face is scrubbed clean of any make-up which make the bags underneath her eyes look dark and overwhelming. Clint realizes if Natasha looks this bad then it means that he’s really fucked up, and he doesn’t want to think about how Laura’s going to react when she sees him.

“Laura.”

Natasha looks a little confused, but nods. “She’s on her way back. I sent her home to shower and eat this morning, because she’s worse than I am when it comes to not leaving your side.”

 _Home._ Something doesn’t make sense, and his still-foggy brain struggles to put the pieces together. “Am I at SHIELD?”

“You were,” Natasha says gently. “After surgery, they managed to stabilize you and I had you flown home. Fury arranged for you to recover here, since SHIELD medics took care of most of your injuries.” She pauses. “You’re in Iowa, now.”

“After…” Clint swallows. Talking at least is getting easier the more he does it, though his voice still feels like it’s been dragged through the dirt. “How long have I been out?”

Natasha hesitates. “Four days,” she says quietly. “You were unconscious when they brought you in. They weren’t…” She stops to compose herself. “The knife penetrated your abdominal aorta, but it only nicked open a part of it. I’m not sure how that’s something to be thankful for but they said it could have lodged much more deeply, given how it was thrown. The internal bleeding was bad, but you managed to hold out until we got you medical attention.”

Clint tries to take in her words. “Anything else?”

“Aside from your coma and your five hour surgery where they couldn’t tell how much damage had been done?” Natasha responds sarcastically. “No. No additional injuries or any kind of spinal damage or organ damage, by some miracle. Though it took at least twenty-four hours for them to admit you were out of the woods in that respect. They weren’t sure when you’d actually wake up.”

“Told you not to take it out.”

Natasha nods slowly. “You were right. The doctor said if I had tried to remove it, even if I had a way to stop the bleeding, it could have ripped open the aorta completely and the wound would have been fatal.” Her voice breaks on the last sentence, and Clint suddenly realizes just how close this particular call has been.

“C’mere,” he manages, trying to move his head as much as he can, given that his arms feel like lead. There’s a learned language when it comes to him and Natasha though, one that doesn’t always need to be verbal, and she gets up from her chair, settling on the bed and lying as close as she can without disturbing the medical equipment and bandages that ravage his body.

“How do you feel?”

He grunts at the question, wondering when it’s an appropriate time to request the good drugs. “Laura says I shouldn’t swear, but I fucking hurt.”

Natasha lets out a laugh that sounds pained. ““That’s what happens when you take a knife to the stomach,” she says, putting her head on the shoulder of his good side. “And I think in this case, Laura would permit you to swear.”

Clint groans. “Doubtful.”

Natasha’s quiet beside him and if he closes his eyes and tries to forget the pain and the beeping hospital monitors, he thinks that maybe he can believe that they’re having one of their stolen moments in the farmhouse, that there’s a new pot of coffee brewing, that Laura’s downstairs cooking breakfast and is going to barge in any moment demanding they stop cuddling without her while Cooper runs up and down the stairs with too much morning energy.

“Is my bag here?”

“Your…” Natasha trails off. “The one you had with you in Budapest?”

He nods and Natasha lifts her head. “It’s at home, with the rest of your gear.” She tucks a falling strand of hair behind her ear as she furrows her brow. “Why?”

Clint debates whether or not he has the strength for this particular conversation now and then thinks better of it. “Doesn’t matter,” he says slowly and Natasha lowers her head back to his body.

“Why did you come after me?” Natasha asks, her breath tickling his exposed skin. “Why did you do this to yourself?”

Clint wonders if she’s asking a question she already knows the answer to because she needs to assure herself that she’s not wrong, or because she needs to hear him say it.

“Because I’m stupid,” he replies, remembering the pain of Oksana’s knife as it had found its place in his skin, the overwhelming and instant fear of the fact that this time, he might not come home. “And because I love you.” The door to his room opens as he finishes talking and Laura runs inside, her red face peppered with tears both dried and fresh.

“Guess I’m not gonna get welcome home sex,” he deadpans as Natasha sits up fully and Laura stops in front of him, dropping into the chair his partner has vacated.

“Don’t hate me,” he says hoarsely, coughing again as Laura puts her hands on his face, touching his cheeks and his nose and his forehead before bending down to kiss every inch of him that she can reach.

“Clinton Francis Barton,” she says in between frantic kisses across his mouth, his ear, his eyes. “You are without a doubt the stupidest, most idiotic person I have _ever_ met in my entire _life_.” Her words are coming out in gasps, as if she’s using up all of her oxygen in her affection, as if she’s afraid that if she stops touching him he’ll disappear. “And I _hate_ that I love you.”

He smiles at the words, the ones he vaguely remembers Natasha saying before he had passed out for good in Budapest, before he had apparently been rescued.

“I bet you say that to all the guys who get hurt,” he says, but Laura doesn’t laugh.

“I’m _pregnant_ , you idiot. I’m pregnant and you had to go off and almost get yourself killed!”

“Not my best moment,” he agrees, because he’s too tired to argue about it, and he feels Natasha’s body shift as she lies back down.

“Do you know what the past few days of my life have been like? Do you have any idea what loving you is like?” Laura asks, her voice shaking. “Do you even _know_ what you put us through?”

Clint tries to smile through his pain, because everything still hurts, but he thinks that there could be worse things than having two people care about him so much, they work themselves into emotional breakdowns.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” he says and when neither of them answer, he knows that this time, he’s gone too far. “I really fucked up.”

“Yes, you did.” Laura grabs his hand, and Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen her lose it so much before, not even during Cooper’s birth. He wants to keep apologizing, but the pain is making it hard to keep his eyes open, much less think straight.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t --”

“It’s okay,” Laura breathes and she strokes his face. His eyelids drop, and he feels her tears dripping onto his skin. “I know, Clint. We know.”

Natasha kisses his other cheek -- he knows it’s Natasha, because her lips feel like roughened, comfortable sandpaper while Laura’s lips feel like untarnished glass -- and he lets himself drift into unconsciousness, comforted that the two people who love him remain steadfastly by his side.

 

***

 

Clint’s hospital stay is longer than usual thanks to the severity of his injury, but eventually he’s moved from his recovery room to one that’s more private -- one that Natasha suspects Fury’s shelled out the money for, though she doesn’t bother to ask. Laura and Natasha switch off with visiting and staying over, and once Clint’s condition improves enough, Cooper comes to visit after school, looking at first scared and a little uncomfortable. All three of them realize it’s probably the first time Cooper has seen one of his parents so sick, and with Clint out of commission and Laura trying to manage a backlog of work she’s neglected, it falls on Natasha to soothe the child’s fears.

“Hey,” Natasha says after they’ve arrived at the hospital for a routine visit ahead of Laura, who has planned to stop by after grocery shopping. They’ve parked some time ago, and she’s sitting in the backseat next to Cooper with one arm around his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Cooper mutely shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice trembles. “I dunno if I wanna see dad.”

Natasha squeezes his shoulder gently. “You remember what I told you, right? Your dad’s okay, even if you see things in his room that are scary. He just needs to be here so that he can get some help feeling better.”

Cooper nods slowly and then looks up at Natasha. “Dad brings me toys a lot when I go away, and before he left I told him I wanted another one,” he says quietly. It takes Natasha a full moment to realize what Cooper’s not saying, and even then she only realizes it because she recognizes the underlying thought from her own emotions.

“Coop...no.” Natasha shifts so that she can hold him more tightly. “This isn’t your fault.” _If anything, it’s my fault_ she thinks grimly, trying to forget about Oksana’s lifeless face, the terror that she felt when she saw the knife being thrown in Clint’s direction, a vision and feeling she still hasn’t been able to fully get rid of.

Cooper looks unconvinced. “But dad doesn’t get hurt.”

Natasha wants to laugh, because maybe they’ve done a better job over the years than they thought when it came to keeping their exploits hidden. “He does, sometimes. And sometimes, these things...they happen.” _Sometimes, your past comes after you and your stupid, big-hearted partner doesn’t know when to stop protecting you_. “But nothing that you did or said made your dad get hurt. I promise.”

“Yeah?” Cooper glances up, fear settling into his usually bright eyes.

“Yes.” Natasha puts her palm against his small cheek. “Do I lie to you?”

Cooper shakes his head. “Tasha doesn’t lie,” he mumbles. “But I’m still scared.”

“I know.” Natasha pulls him in close. “You’re allowed to be scared. Just remember that having fear doesn’t make you any less brave. You know who taught me that?”

“Dad?” Cooper’s voice is small and tentative, and Natasha nods.

“And your mom,” she adds. “Both of them have been scared before, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re still brave and strong and protecting you, right?”

Cooper nods slowly. “Like you are.”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees. “Like I am. And you wanted to be like me, right?”

Cooper nods, and Natasha entwines their fingers. “Know what else? Your dad’s been asking for you. He’s going to be _really_ happy to see you.”

Cooper smiles at that and Natasha takes advantage of the moment to tug at his hand.

“Come on. Walk with me and we’ll go inside, okay?” She helps him out of the car and into the hospital, wandering down the squeaky halls while Cooper holds onto Natasha’s fingers with a death-like grip.

“Special visitor,” she announces loudly when she opens the door to Clint’s room. Clint looks like he’s falling asleep, but he snaps awake at the sound of her voice.

“Daddy!”

Cooper’s entire demeanor changes at the sight of his father and he practically runs forward, flinging himself towards the bed. Natasha rushes after him, pulling him back.

“Careful,” she cautions. “I’ll help you sit, okay?” She lifts Cooper gently and then pulls a chair close to Clint’s bedside, exchanging a quick conversation with him using her eyes.

“Hey, wanna see a cool scar?” Clint asks as Cooper perches on the covers. Clint gestures towards Natasha, who sighs as she pulls up his hospital gown.

“Cool!” Cooper’s eyes are saucer-wide as they stare at the bandage on Clint’s stomach. “It’s like the scar on my leg!”

“A _little_ bigger than that,” Natasha says, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him into her lap. “Do you have something to show your dad?”

Cooper nods and fumbles in the bag Natasha’s holding out, taking the smartphone and handing it to Clint, who looks a little confused.

“Play the video,” Natasha says in exasperation, because it’s forever head scratching to her that Clint can use complicated home improvement tools and Stark Tech, yet he sometimes can’t figure out how to use simple human technology. Clint hits a button, watching a short feed of Cooper showing off an intricately built erector set, his loud voice announcing all the bells and whistles.

“No way,” Clint says, his eyes widening. “You built that?”

Cooper nods a little shyly. “Mom and Tasha helped.”

“But you did most of the work, right?” Natasha prompts. Cooper nods, and Clint holds up a hand.

“That’s _amazing_. High five, kiddo.”

Cooper hesitates, staring at the wires protruding from Clint’s arm. Natasha nudges him until he slaps his dad’s palm, giggling when Clint makes a face.

“Laura’s on her way,” Natasha says, taking the phone back after it beeps a few times. “And she said she’s bringing you an unauthorized dinner.”

“Thank god,” Clint mutters. “If I have to eat any more of that hospital sh -- _stuff_ , I swear I’m going to go insane.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’ve taught her well in the smuggling and rule breaking department,” she says dryly. “Anyway, I can’t promise it'll be tacos, but maybe she’ll take pity on you.”

“Ugh,” Clint mutters, scrunching up his face. “I can’t believe I’m missing taco night _again_.”

“I think your kid can manage without taco night for a few more weeks,” Natasha says.

Clint looks visibly upset. “Well, I can’t.”

“Well, you’re not entirely an adult,” she shoots back as she gets up, settling Cooper in her seat with his book. “Honestly, Clint. I don’t even know how you managed to get a wife. Not to mention make a kid.”

“Hey, she was the one who hit on me,” he protests and Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“That’s not the way she told it. And on _that_ note, I’m getting coffee.”

She leaves as Cooper starts to read out loud, closing the door behind her and wandering down to the cafeteria where she procures the largest cup of coffee she can find, as well as a few cookies. Clint would probably make fun of her if he knew she was walking through the halls stuffing chocolate chip baked goods in her mouth like his son, but right now she could care less. The past few weeks had been harried enough to warrant unnecessary stress eating, and drinking wasn’t much of an option since Laura had stopped keeping alcohol in the house, in an effort to make her pregnancy easier.

When Natasha gets back to the room, she’s surprised to find that Laura’s arrived and is sitting on the bed, unloading a few wrapped containers. Clint’s looking on, as eager as a dog, while Cooper reads in the corner.

“Aw, man.” His face falls when Laura opens the first container, which is filled with a healthy portion of pasta and mushrooms. Laura blows out a frustrated breath and puts another container on the bed tray.

“God, I love you,” Clint says dreamily when she takes off the lid, and Natasha can smell the disco fries before she sees them.

“Only because I love you too,” Laura says pointedly. _Only because you almost died_. She glances at Natasha. “I’m going to take Cooper for a walk. I need to talk to a few nurses, and he hasn’t seen the gift shop yet.”

“I’ll make sure he eats,” Natasha promises and Clint gives her a look.

“You think you have to worry about _that_?”

“I meant the food that’s _not_ terrible for you,” Natasha corrects, eyeing the pasta, and Clint pouts as Laura kisses him on the lips.

“Come on, Coop. We’re going to take a tour for a little bit and let daddy eat.”

Cooper slides reluctantly off the chair, leaving his book sitting haphazardly on the hard plastic, while Natasha sits down on the bed. She waits until the door has fully closed before she lies down next to him, putting a hand on his chest, her fingers spread over his heart.

“Shut up and indulge me,” she says when she hears the intake of breath that signals he’s going to speak. He exhales slowly and they lie in silence for awhile, the smell of food wafting through the room until Natasha thinks that even she might want grossly covered fries.

“Did you bring it?”

Natasha nods against him. “Yes. But I still don’t understand why you wanted me to.”

“You will,” he says, gesturing towards her bag. “Get it now, before Laura comes back.”

Natasha gives him a wary look but obeys, sitting up and rooting around in her borrowed purse until she finds what Clint had been so intent on making sure she had found in his own bag when he first woke up -- a small brown sack that looked like it had seen better days.

“Open it,” he says when she sits back down on the bed and Natasha does so, stopping when she pulls out a simple black box.

“ _Clint_ ,” she says sharply and Clint shakes his head.

“Nat, I swear I’m not giving you a ring or anything. Promise.”

She lets out a breath she hasn’t realized she’s taken and opens the box to reveal a sterling silver arrow necklace set in a velvet holder.

“Clint,” she repeats, looking up in surprise because she knows as well as he does that they don’t give each other gifts, much less gifts like these. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

Natasha frowns. “If I’m being honest, what it _looks_ like is a really cliche way of you telling me that you love me.”

Clint starts laughing so hard that Natasha immediately leans over, trying to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.

“It’s partially true,” he says when he’s recovered, wincing at the pain he’s caused himself, and she drops back down next to him with one hand on his arm. “Look, I’ve had it for awhile, and I thought it was finally time to give it to you.”

“Awhile,” Natasha repeats suspiciously. “How long is _awhile_?”

Clint shrugs. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t even remember where I bought it. But I kept it in my bag because I wanted to give it to you at the right time.”

“The right time,” Natasha murmurs, staring at the necklace. “Between killing people and running for our lives and having sex and you almost dying?”

“Well, that and playing board games and taking walks and making dinner,” Clint returns. “I realized I didn’t know when to give it to you, because I didn’t want it to come out of the blue.”

“Yeah, well. If you had died on me and I found this in your bag, I might’ve dug up your corpse and killed you again,” Natasha replies with a smile. She fingers the necklace, watching the silver arrow glint and catch in the light.

“I didn’t kill Oksana that first time because of you, and now I did. Because of you.” She swallows, raising her eyes. “It’s an ironic full circle.”

Clint regards her carefully. “Did you _want_ to kill her?”

Natasha shakes her head. “I did, but I didn’t. Not until she mentioned you and Laura. And then...” She feels a ribbon untangling in her chest, the words spilling out before she can stop them. “I could never let anyone hurt your family. I could never let anyone hurt _my_ family.” She pauses, breathing deeply, inhaling hospital antiseptic. “Remember when I showed up at the house? When Laura wasn’t home? And I asked you what you would do if I snapped?”

“Yes,” Clint says gravely. Natasha clutches the silver chain more tightly.

“I think I finally understand what it feels like. To put the people you love first. To know that I would do anything to protect them.” She lets the necklace fall loosely through her fingers, while Clint inches his hand towards hers as much as he can given his position in the bed.

“You asked me why I came after you,” he says quietly, and Natasha shakes her head.

“I know why, Clint.”

“But it’s more than that,” he insists as she gives him a long look.

“More than the fact that you love me?”

Clint sighs. “I know you took off like that because you were trying to protect me. Because you didn’t want me to get involved. But you’re not alone, Tasha. You’re _never_ going to be alone now that you have me. Now that you have us.”

Natasha swallows down a lump in her throat as she picks up the necklace again. “You didn’t have to prove that by going up against a Red Room assassin,” she says finally and Clint snorts.

“I’ve never been the smartest person in the room when it comes to acting rationally, you know that.”

Natasha huffs out a small smile. “I always figured my past would catch up with me. But I didn’t need my history to become yours, too. And Laura...”

“Laura’s been in this life since I joined SHIELD, whether she likes it or not,” Clint says, sounding a little sad. “And no, Nat, your life didn’t have to become mine. You didn’t ask for that. I _chose_ that. I chose that the moment I put down my bow and took you in and got to know you. I chose that the moment I trusted you with all my personal information and let you into my family. It was a responsibility I was willing to take on, because I love you.”

Natasha’s breath hitches in her throat. “You didn’t love me then.”

“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t know it,” Clint says seriously. “But all that matters is that I love you now.”

Natasha stares at him, seeing the genuine softness in his eyes, the same look she’s used to seeing when he talks about how much he means to her. “I don’t know what to do with you,” she says, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. She glances at the door to make sure Laura and Cooper aren’t coming and then gets back into bed, placing her hand over his chest again. The arrow necklace stays tightly between her fingers, his heart beating against the silver, and Natasha suddenly realizes what home feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates will keep happening at the most every two weeks, sometimes a little earlier or a little later depending on how well a chapter flows for me as I write. (The ultimate goal is to have this fic finished in full before Civil War comes out.) Unless something takes a drastic creative turn, there are about 6-7 more chapters of decent length planned to finish out the rest of the years -- an end point exists! 
> 
> Thank you Shelly for being there when I need to cry over OT3 and non-OT3 related things and keeps me going during this writing process. And I know I keep saying it, but thank you, truly, for all of you who keep reading. The response to this has been more gratifying than I can express.


	15. 2004

A few months after Clint’s started to make considerable progress with Natasha, he’s attempting to grab a quick nap in his room at SHIELD when the door flies open with a loud bang. Clint jerks awake as if he’s been shot, and only when he sits up does he realize he’s _actually_ staring down the muzzle of a cocked gun.

“I have to hand it to you,” Clint says when Natasha has lowered her weapon, the trigger part of her conditioning having ebbed following Clint staring calmly at her, talking her down with his eyes. “You really know how to make an entrance.”

“Sorry,” Natasha apologizes, her words stilted. She tucks a falling strand of red behind her ear. In doing so, Clint notices that she goes instantly from ready-made assassin to vulnerable young girl, a hint of humanity bleeding out of a life lived on the edge and encased in shadows of darkness.

“If you didn’t want me to shoot you, you shouldn’t have reacted like that when I came in.”

“If you didn’t want me to react like that when you came in, you shouldn’t have walked in on me without any warning while I slept,” he retorts before yawning loudly and stretching his legs. “What’s up?”

“I, uh.” Natasha glances down, uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I was bored.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You were bored?”

“Yes,” she says as her head snaps back up, her gaze now challenging. “I’m _bored_ , Clint. I’ve been in the same room, in the same building, ever since you brought me in. I haven’t even been allowed to walk down the block while surrounded by security cameras. I don’t know why people think I’m going to bolt or kill someone.”

“Yeah, no idea,” Clint agrees sarcastically. “Look, I’ll see if I can get Hill or Fury to sign off on a field trip or something. Would that help?”

Natasha glares, fixing him with a look so angry that it makes Clint wonder if she’ll pick up the gun again. “I was being serious.”

“So was I,” Clint returns promptly. “Besides, you’ve never been on one of _my_ field trips before. Trust me, they’re worth it.”

Natasha looks less angry but still skeptical. “You’ll really see about getting me out of here?”

Clint regards her carefully and then nods. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I will. You’ve been good, Natasha. You’ve made a lot of progress, and I think you deserve some kind of reward.”

Natasha seems visibly taken aback at Clint’s words, and he finds himself wondering if anyone has ever complimented her so genuinely before. He gets up from the bed and walks over to the small desk in the corner of the room, opening a drawer to reveal a few crumpled receipts, a collection of stray arrowheads, and a faded, beat-up copy of Aldous Huxley’s _Brave New World_. He takes out a folder from among the mess, and hands it out.

“It’s just a dumb file,” Natasha says flippantly when she sees what he’s holding, and Clint shakes his head. Although the Red Room had kept records and even video reels of its students -- although there had been information available about what kind of practices they employed -- Natasha Romanoff and even Natalia Romanova had been utterly non-existent as a person, save for a name and a number that was assigned to her in order to keep track of her activities when she went on a mission. Clint had gathered everything that he could find in his research after she had been brought in, determined to fill in the blank spaces with at least _something_ good.

“It’s more than that.” He sits back down and opens the folder, flipping through the pages. “This is your life, Natasha. All of it. Everything we know about you, everything we’ve learned about you.”

“I don’t understand,” she says in a voice that makes Clint realize she does, but is probably scared to admit it.

“Well.” He closes the folder again and puts it on the bed. “You never had any kind of life before, it seems. So we’re building you one now. This one includes your past.” He breaks off and waves his hand around. “But it also includes everything you’ve done since you’ve come here. All your improvements, your skills, your progress. This is Natasha Romanoff, and she’s a damn good person, if she’d let herself start to believe it.”

Natasha’s brows crease deeply as he talks. “One day, you’re going to tell me why you didn’t kill me,” she says slowly. Clint shrugs.

“One day,” he says, getting up. “But I think you already know why. Come on. Let me go see if I can use my witty charm and award-winning personality to get you some air.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but she’s also smiling as she gets up, following Clint out of the room. He watches her walk down the hallway, heading in the direction of the cafeteria, his heart beating a little faster as she disappears. He shakes off the feeling before heading to the elevator, pressing his ID to the screen and taking the car up to Fury’s office on the 8th floor.

“Barton.” Fury looks up in surprise when Clint opens the door without knocking. “What’s wrong?”

“Sir.” Clint glances towards the single chair in front of the Director’s desk, wondering if he should forgo his usual frivolous persona in favor of a more formal approach for this particular request. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

Fury raises an eyebrow. “That depends.”

“Right. Y’see, well...the thing is.” Clint stops and decides to sit himself down in the chair after all, leaning forward methodically and balancing his elbows on his knees. “I wanted to ask you about Natasha.” He realizes how uncomfortable he actually finds sitting this way, trying to be military and formal; the hard back is digging into the bottom of his spine and also the most recent bruises there.

“Go on.”

 _Fuck it_ , Clint thinks as he slumps down, letting his posture relax, sticking two booted feet up on Fury’s desk as his boss recoils in surprise and then disdain. “I wanted to see if I could take her out for a bit. You know, just out of the building or something.”

Fury stares at Clint for a long time, assessing him via the gaze of one watchful eye. “Where?”

Clint shrugs. “I dunno. Just somewhere that’s not here. She’s gonna go crazy, sir. I mean, not crazy like, she’s gonna kill everyone, but she hasn’t been out in the world since she was brought in. I promise I won’t take her far. Hell, I won’t even take her out for more than a full day. But I think it would help.”

Fury’s still staring him down, and Clint thinks maybe he should feel uncomfortable. The truth is, however, he’s used to this by now -- his boss’ stoic look and disapproving glances, the ones he so often found himself on the receiving end of. It had been just over a year since he’d officially joined SHIELD, but Clint was quickly becoming familiar with certain looks of his supervisor.

“I’m tempted to say no,” he begins slowly and Clint sits up a little straighter, his feet sliding back to the floor.

“Sir?”

“But.” Fury cuts Clint off with a dismissive wave. “I can’t deny that you’ve made good progress with her, and I think you’re right. She could stand to be outside in the world for a bit. As long as you watch her and stay with her and make sure she doesn’t act out. Because if I get even one report of any kind of civilian mishap that seems suspicious, I _will_ report you to the Council.”

“That’s fair,” Clint says, trying to hide a smile, because he knows that as much as his boss can be strict about reaming him out, he’d probably never go that far. Whatever the reason, Fury had too much of a soft spot for Clint’s actions, and Clint has known that since the day he was recruited.

“Dismissed,” Fury responds curtly as he leans over to pick up a folder from his desk. Clint sits back, his suspicions rising.

“Hang on. You don’t even want to know where I’m planning to take her? You don’t need me to, like, sign dozens of stupid forms for protocol reasons?”

“Barton.” Fury looks even more annoyed than before, and rubs at an invisible line on his forehead. “As far as you and I are concerned, you were never in this office, and this conversation never happened.” He eyes him sharply. “Is that clear?”

Clint nods, caught completely off guard by the response. “Perfectly clear,” he affirms, getting up with a flourish. He can practically hear Fury’s silent groan as he closes the door behind him, heading back to the elevator, hoping and praying Natasha’s still hanging around the cafeteria. He finds her quickly after he walks in, her red hair and slumped posture making it easy for him to pick her out; for all that Natasha spent her life blending in and making herself invisible to everyone -- history included -- she stuck out like a sore thumb at SHIELD.

“Hey,” he says, dropping into the empty seat across from her and picking up a handful of french fries from her plate. She growls in annoyance.

“I’m _eating_.”

“So’m I,” Clint says through a mouthful of cold fries and Natasha makes a face. “Anyway.” He swallows fully before continuing. “Talked to Fury. You wanna blow this popsicle stand for a bit?”

Natasha barks out a laugh that sounds both amused and chilling at the same time, as if she’s still trying to learn how to accurately express her emotion in a way that doesn’t mean _I’m going to enjoy killing you and then I’m going to disassemble your body parts and throw them into a river_.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Clint nods. “Seriously. Meet me downstairs after dinner, and we’ll get out you out of here. And no asking where I’m taking you beforehand, it’s a surprise.”

Natasha narrows her eyes, her lips sliding into a pout. “Fine,” she agrees grudgingly. Clint smiles as he steals another fry, before Natasha swats his hand away roughly with more grumbling. An hour or so later, Clint’s changed into civilian clothes and finds himself leaning against a rail in the building’s lobby, tapping his foot restlessly against the tiles. Natasha arrives fifteen minutes late wearing a borrowed sweatshirt over a baggy top and jeans that look a little too big, her long auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Nice threads,” Clint comments as she walks towards him and Natasha groans.

“Did you just say _nice threads_? I’m not even fully American, and I know how to speak better than that.”

Clint laughs despite the clear insult. “Good, then I don’t have to worry about impressing you,” he says matter-of-factly, leading her out of the building and down the block.

“Where are we going?” Natasha asks curiously as they cross the busy intersection of Sixth Avenue and turn down a side street, passing a few garment district shops and old restaurants as they traipse the blocks.

“Thought you could use a nightcap,” Clint comments as they stop in front of a building painted in red, a large black overhang stretching out over the sidewalk, the top of which is adorned with a large four leaf clover. Clint watches Natasha glance dubiously at the sign that reads O’DONOGHUES BAR in large white letters as he opens the door.

“Sláinte,” she mutters under her breath, and Clint grins.

“After you,” he answers, holding out his hand as she walks inside. There are a smattering of regulars and a decent after work crowd, but it’s still early enough that they can grab a seat at the counter and, more importantly, hear each other talk without yelling over loud conversations or loud music.

“Gin and tonic,” he says when he sits down. “And she’ll have…” He glances over, realizing there are still things about Natasha that he doesn’t quite know, like her drink preferences. Natasha, for her part, looks startled at the question.

“Vodka, please,” she says when she finally speaks. “Ketel One, straight.”

“Huh.” Clint watches as the bartender -- a younger man that almost reminds Clint of himself -- starts to pour alcohol into two glasses. “I thought that whole straight vodka thing was a Russian stereotype.”

Natasha sighs. “It is,” she admits. “But I developed a taste for it at some point and it became my go-to.” She pauses, grimacing. “Don’t tell anyone I’m a parody of myself.”

“Hey, don’t tell anyone I used the term _nice threads_ out loud and we have a deal.”

Natasha smiles, crossing her legs and leaning forward as the bartender places their drinks in front of them.

“So,” Clint says, shoving the glass of clear liquid in her direction as he picks up his own. “How exactly _does_ one kill someone by using only lemon juice and salt?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You really want to know?”

Clint shrugs. “Why not?”

Natasha snorts. “Because I don’t usually sit in a bar talking about my murder methods, least of all while drinking with secret agents who were supposed to kill me, that’s why.”

“Well, I normally don’t take assassins that I was supposed to kill out for drinks, but here we are,” Clint says, spreading his fingers on the table. Natasha huffs out a laugh, throwing her head back slightly.

“Fine. Would you like a simple explanation, or shall I regale you with the details?”

Clint grins. “Indulge me,” he answers, leaning forward onto the table. He listens intently as she describes the process of finding a knife with the sharpest blade, how she would dip it multiple times in lemon juice and salt before inserting it into her target’s already open wound in just the right place, preferably after they’d already shown signs of dehydration and infection. He realizes that it’s probably the strangest thing in the world -- willingly listening to someone talk about how they would kill someone else -- but he also notices that she’s talking without pretense. Her eyes don’t dart around worryingly, her stance relaxes, and she starts leaning into him a little more, as if she’s getting more comfortable in his presence.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up a hand and interrupting her new and rather enthusiastic tirade on what happens if you dip an ivory knife in nitric acid instead. He reaches into his jacket pocket as his phone starts to vibrate. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave or anything, okay?”

Natasha’s face morphs into confusion but she nods, sipping on her drink as Clint slides off the stool, bringing the phone to his ear as he walks back towards the front entrance.

“Hi.” He’s unable to stop the smile he feels spreading over his face at the image of Laura on the other end of the line.

“Clint?” Laura sounds both tired and confused. “Where are you?”

“Oh.” Clint glances up, making sure Natasha is still at the bar and hasn’t actually left. “Just, uh, out with some co-workers. You know, trying to be social off the job.”

“Okay, well, someone wants to say goodnight,” Laura says pointedly and Clint’s smile grows bigger.

“I’m all yours. And his.”

There’s a brief pause and then Laura speaks again, her voice sounding far away as she instructs Cooper to react into the phone. Clint gets a few gurgles and cries and something that sounds like a laugh, which makes him laugh in turn, imagining Cooper’s wide eyes and chubby cheeks as his mouth tries to use words he doesn’t yet know.

“Hey...hey, kiddo,” Clint says in response to more unintelligible sounds. “I love you, you know that? I love you very much, and daddy will be home soon to kiss you and hold you.” Cooper makes a noise that Clint thinks could be a cross between a whine and a burp.

“You better be serious about coming home soon,” Laura says when she gets back on the phone. “The weather’s getting worse out here, and I don’t want you to be caught in a period where you’re unable to travel.”

“I am,” Clint promises. “Swear. And don’t worry -- nothing will ever keep me from coming home when I need to or want to.”

“Not even all the airports being closed due to ice storms?” Laura asks dubiously and Clint laughs, thinking of SHIELD’s quinjets.

“Not even that,” he confirms. “Go put him to bed and see if you can get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” says Laura softly, and Clint thinks her voice sounds more sad than usual. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Clint murmurs over the din of the bar crowd, feeling his heart tear in pieces as his mind paints a mental picture of Laura in one of his old flannel shirts, hair unbrushed, standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen with Cooper wrapped up in his swaddle, tiny fists waving around uncontrollably. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Laura takes a deep breath, as if she’s trying to steady herself. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles again as he hangs up the phone, staring down at the screen for a few moments after it returns to his wallpaper photo -- a picture of Laura posing in front of the lake house, taken just days before their engagement. Natasha’s questioning face is waiting for him when he gets back to the bar.

“Your call girl?”

Clint openly laughs as he slides back onto the stool. “My wife, actually. But thanks for the compliment that someone could think my flirting gets me somewhere.”

Natasha stares at him with an incredulous look, her mouth hanging open in a sentence seemingly forgotten. “You...have a wife.”

“And a kid,” Clint says with a nod. If Natasha had looked confused before, she looks even more perplexed at this drop of information.

“You didn’t tell me about that.”

“No,” says Clint, draining his glass and putting it back down. “Why would I tell you about my family before I knew if I could really trust you?”

Natasha looks a little uncertain. “But you’re telling me now.”

“Because I know I can trust you now,” he says simply, watching the way she picks up her own drink, her movements carefully catalogued as if she’s trying to play her cards on what Clint supposes might be one of her missions.

“What’s her name?”

“Laura.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a picture that had been taken right before he left home, one of Cooper lying in his reclining bouncer on the porch while Laura leans over with a big grin. “We met a few years ago when she was in school. I worked at a bar close to her campus, and she came in one night. Started talking, and the rest is history.”

Natasha stares at the photo while Clint talks. “And him?”

“Cooper. No middle name, we just never decided on one.” He can’t help the boasting tone that accompanies his words, the way he bounces in his chair as he responds, a byproduct of embracing the pride that comes with still-new fatherhood. “He’s about ten months, now.”

Natasha straightens up, finally taking her eyes off the photo.

“They don’t live here, I assume.”

“No,” Clint says, putting the photo away. “They’re in Iowa. That’s where she grew up, and where I put down my roots. Kinda. Well, at least, after we met.”

Natasha frowns, her head tilting to one side. “So you spend all this time away from them? Your family?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, rubbing a hand over his chin. “For now. It’s tough, sometimes, which is why I’m probably going home for a day or so next week.” He smiles wryly. “Hope you like working with Rumlow.”

“Ugh.” Natasha shudders visibly. “Is that the guy who’s so overconfident about his fighting skills that he thinks he can take me down without even breaking a sweat? Talk about a masochist.”

“There was a reason he was voted ‘number one asshole’ in his training course,” Clint admits. “Behind his back. He’s a good soldier, though. Tactical as anything. He’ll take good care of you.”

“I don’t care whether or not he’s tactical, or whether or not he’ll take good care of me,” Natasha says grumpily. “He’s annoying. And I could break his fingers without looking.”

“You could break my fingers, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m starting to like you,” Natasha responds instantly before her eyes widen, as if she’s realized she’s admitted something that she didn’t mean to say out loud. She reaches for her drink and downs it quickly, and Clint finds them both falling into an awkward silence that he finally breaks by leaning over the counter and flagging down the bartender again.

“One more for the road?”

“Agent Barton.” Natasha’s lips twitch into a half smile. “Drinking unnecessarily? On a work night?”

“Hey, I’m a former bartender,” he boasts, waggling an eyebrow. “What’s _your_ excuse, Romanoff?”

Natasha grins wider, all sharp teeth that are indicative of a wolf about to take a bite of its prey. “Well.” She squares her shoulders and then starts playing with a strand of hair, her tone landing somewhere between teasing and delighted. “I never did tell you about the time I poisoned an entire dinner party of Russian diplomats while completely hungover.”

 

***

 

Ice and cold come in a roaring, ferocious wave, what the newscasters take to calling the worst winter in at least ten years. It brings with it a sense of tranquility, one that Laura feels like she doesn’t see often; the few cars and trucks that do come their way don’t amble by as often on the snow-covered roads, their neighbor's tractor doesn’t sputter and cough at various moments during the afternoon and instead sits serenely in the yard over, abandoned and untouched. Blankets of pristine white coat the lawn and the few old crops, while dazzlingly shaped icicles form along the overhang of the porch, appearing overnight as if created by magic. Laura lets the snow pile up on the deck and outside along the porch steps, admiring its beauty from the warmth of the living room where she sits with Cooper wrapped up in his swaddle. Sometimes, she ventures outside to stand by the snow-covered swing as Cooper’s tiny hands flail wildly in an attempt to grasp crystallized flakes that settle on his face. It’s calming and beautiful and it makes her heart feel cozy, but even still, she finds herself grateful when her parents come by to help shovel out some of the mess.

She ignores Bob’s grumbles of “Clint should be here,” because it adds more insult to injury than she wants to admit, and also because covering for him was tiring with the addition of having a baby to take care of. He’d already promised to come home last week, which had turned into this week, and Laura’s beginning to lose hope about _that_ , too, though she doesn’t let her annoyance show when he calls or when he apologizes. With the weather making it hard to leave the house more frequently than normal, she busies herself by spending as much time as she can with her son, watching Disney movies and playing music and dangling blocks and mobiles in front of Cooper’s face to keep him engaged and happy.

“For the first time in my life, I actually _miss_ the winter there,” Clint says when she picks up the phone one day. Laura sticks the receiver against her chin and wraps an arm more tightly around Cooper’s body as she wanders downstairs.

“Coming home soon?”

“Hopefully,” Clint says cagily and Laura can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips. She can practically see Clint frowning over the phone.

“What?”

“Just…” She trails off, staring out the window as she steps into the living room, and closes her eyes. “Nothing.”

“No, something’s up.” His voice is determined now, and Laura knows he won’t let her hang up without talking about it.

“It’s just...you’ve been away a long time,” she says finally. “And that’s okay. I get it. But don’t tell me you’re coming home if you don’t think you can, because I really don’t want to get my hopes up.” She pauses. “It’s hard.”

“Well.” Clint suddenly sounds out of breath, as if he’s running, which makes Laura’s heart speed up in worry. “What would you say if I showed up at home right now?”

Laura whirls around in surprise as the front door bursts open, startling Cooper who bursts into tears.

“That’s not for you,” Laura says immediately, but she feels her own eyes well up as her husband falls through the threshold, shaking snow out of his hair. In another five steps, he’s crossed the floor, dirty boots and all, and is crushing both Laura and Cooper in a huge bear hug as Laura drops the phone onto the floor.

“I’ll take the crying,” he says as he kisses her, using both hands to grab the side of her face. Laura kisses back, suddenly desperate to touch him.

“How?”

“A very fast mode of transportation, thanks to SHIELD,” he says with a small smile. “I’m only here for twenty-four hours. It’s all I could manage on short notice.” His voice takes on an apologetic tone as he pulls away. “But I needed to see you.”

Laura nods, hugging Cooper more tightly while looking up at Clint’s face. He looks different and not all at once, his features gaunt with tiredness and a few new lacerations and scars that Laura suspects are from training. But he still feels the same when she hugs him, with no broken bones or anything out of place that she can quantify. She finds her eyes welling up again without warning, tears slipping down her cheeks and Clint brushes them away with the thumb of his fingerless glove.

“Hey, come on.” He kisses her again. “I’m home, now. No crying allowed.”

“Clearly, you haven’t met your son,” Laura says, trying to lighten the mood. She’s meant the words as a jab but regrets them as soon as they leave her mouth, trying to ignore the shadow that falls over his face before it disappears. “Sorry,” she apologizes quietly. “I didn’t mean -- I wasn’t thinking.”

“No.” Clint smiles tightly. “No, you’re right. It’s been awhile. Not your fault.” He looks down at her arms. “Has he slept yet?”

Laura shakes her head. “I was just about to put him down, though, if you want to help.” She glances up, brushing a hand over Clint’s damp hair. “I’m pretty sure he missed you singing to him.”

“In person,” Clint adds, because most of their phone conversations over the past few months had ended with Laura pressing the phone to Cooper’s ear, asleep or not, while Clint sang James Taylor over the line.

“I’m sorry,” she says a little brokenly as his face twists into another concerned frown, and she knows it’s because this blatant show of vulnerability isn’t usual. “I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says quietly, running a finger over her cheek. He kisses her deeply, their faces pressing together so tightly that Laura feels like she can’t quite breathe, until the mood is broken by Cooper’s harsh cry, a staccato beat of wails.

“Thank you,” she says as he breaks away. “For coming home.”

Clint looks down at Cooper, putting a hand on his head before meeting her eyes again.

“Anytime, Laur.”

 

***

 

Even though Clint’s home for barely a day, Laura’s determined to make the most of it, waking up the next morning earlier than she needs to and nursing Cooper as Clint starts the coffee maker and prepares pancake batter.

“So I was thinking,” he starts as Laura sits in the chair with Cooper sucking at her breast. “Maybe instead of doing house work, we can give him a little introduction to the winter wonderland.” He gestures towards the kitchen widow where the snow is still piled high, untouched and glistening with pure white sparkles, save for a few soft paw prints from the dog next door.

“I think I could stand to be outside in the snow for once, instead of looking at it,” Laura agrees, wincing as Cooper pulls a little too hard. She reaches for the coffee Clint’s left on the table, sighing quietly as she wraps her free hand around the owl-shaped mug she had taken from her parents’ house.

“Can you imagine if you couldn’t have coffee while you were breastfeeding?” Clint asks and Laura glares.

“If I could move, I’d kick you right now,” she says as she brings the cup to her lips. “Let’s just say I have never been so glad to find out that at least two cups a day won’t kill me. Or him.”

“I dunno.” Clint starts mixing the batter vigorously. “You did pretty good during the pregnancy. Better than I would have done.”

“Next time, I’m making _you_ wear a bodysuit that gives you back pain, and you can join me in giving up coffee and alcohol for almost a year,” Laura grouses. Clint stops stirring with a grin.

“Next time?”

Laura realizes what she’s said, the words that have slipped out without realizing it. “Well.” She looks down at Cooper, at the way his tiny mouth is wrapped around her nipple, and she can’t help but smile as she looks back up. “Give me a few years, at least. I’m still too tired to put my shirts on correctly.”

Clint laughs. “That’s why you’ve got me,” he says proudly, pouring batter into the pan. Laura arches a brow.

“The man who trips over his own two feet?”

“I _did_ clean up the living room this morning before coffee, give me some credit.”

Laura rocks Cooper back and forth as he makes small whimpering cries against her chest, signaling that he’s clearly done with his meal.

“If he ends up bald, I get to pick out the wig,” Clint says, his hands expertly grabbing a spatula, helping the golden batter turn slightly brown as it bubbles around the edges, puffing up on the sides.

“Clint. He’s not going to end up bald,” Laura says in exasperation. She re-adjusts her shirt and shifts Cooper to her shoulder so she can pat his back. “I absolutely promise.”

“Trusting you,” Clint grumbles as Laura hides a grin. An hour later, Clint’s served most of the pancakes and Laura’s cleaned up the kitchen while Clint’s gotten Cooper changed into a snowsuit so big and fluffy, Laura’s not sure where her son ends and the fabric begins.

“You sure our kid is in there?” Laura asks, wrapped up in her own winter clothes, as a large hood droops over Cooper’s forehead, obscuring tiny eyes.

“What, you can’t hear the crying?” Clint asks even though Cooper is currently quite placid. The moment Laura picks him up, however, he starts wailing.

“You _had_ to say something,” says Laura as Clint opens the door to reveal a sheer, quiet landscape.

“You know, I never really cared for Iowa in the winter,” Clint muses as he closes the door behind them, double checking that the lock’s been left open. “Maybe it’s because I always had to try to navigate crap roads and work and could never enjoy it. But this is nice.”

Laura wants to agree, though she’s always been a fan of the colder months for this particular reason -- because of the fact that everything becomes simple and calm in a way that drives home just how nice it is to be somewhere removed from big city bustle. Having Clint and Cooper around to share the feelings with her, however, makes it even more magical.

Cooper makes a delighted noise as Laura bends down, helping him put a tiny gloved hand into the snow so that he can make a print. Clint joins him and puts his own hand down next to Cooper’s, and Laura decides to add her hand as well, which sends Clint scurrying back into the house to grab his camera.

“Laura?”

Laura’s startled by the voice that’s not Clint or Cooper and when she turns around, her face relaxes into an easy grin.

“Hannah.” She smiles at her neighbor, who is holding tightly to the leash of a large dog with salt and pepper fur. “You’re a long way from home.”

“If you count a few trees,” Hannah says absently, waving towards her house, which is barely visible thanks to the snow. “But duty calls, and Ava’s been far too patient with the fact that we haven’t been able to get out much in this weather.”

“I can tell,” Laura remarks as she stares down at the dog who is looking up eagerly, a thick thread of drool dripping down her muzzle. Cooper reaches out with flailing arms that barely move in his snowsuit.

“Hey, Cooper,” Hannah says gently, leaning over to smile at the baby. “Do you want to say hi to Ava?”

Cooper’s face scrunches up and Hannah laughs as Laura gets closer, allowing Cooper the ability to grab fistfuls of fur while patting the dog’s back and rump. Laura lets him more or less assault the poor animal while Ava stays still and serene.

“Next thing I know, my husband will be asking us to get a dog,” Laura says warily.

“Dogs make good companions,” Clint interjects from behind, coming to a stop beside her. “Hey, Hannah.”

“Clint.” Hannah smiles. “I’m surprised to see you home.”

“Got some time off,” Clint answers with a smile. “Trying to take advantage of it while I can. How’s Dave?”

“Working late, as usual,” Hannah says as she makes a face. “And leaving me to do the grunt work of dog walking, as usual.”

“No idea what _that’s_ like,” Laura mutters under her breath as Hannah chuckles and Clint shoves his lower lip into a pout.

“Hey, I made you breakfast this morning.”

“You did,” Laura placates as she gently pries Cooper’s hands away from the dog. “Show-off,” she adds, catching Hannah’s eye as she grins from underneath a thick hand-knitted scarf.

“Believe me. The amount of times I’ve forced Dave to make me breakfast when he’s had to work late could fill one of your bookshelves.” She tugs at Ava’s leash. “Come on, Ava girl. There’s more snow for you to explore.”

“Say goodbye to the doggie,” Laura instructs her son, nudging Cooper’s arm, which flails wildly as he giggles.

“Good to see you, Laura. And Clint -- let me know when you’re back in town for more than a few days. Dave keeps complaining that our stove won’t work properly.”

Clint smiles. “You got it,” he says with a mock salute as Hannah turns away and walks back down the lawn. Cooper lasts another half an hour outside before he starts wailing uncontrollably, hot tears snaking down his cold red face and staining the front of his outfit, at which point Laura wisely advises her husband it might be time to throw in the towel.

“Aw, man.” Clint drops the beginnings of the ball he’s made for the snowman, and Laura raises an eyebrow that she knows disappears into the red cotton hat that’s fitted snugly over her wavy brown hair.

“Maybe you should be more concerned with your son than a snowman,” Laura says as she turns away, biting down on a laugh and also a yell as a softly lobbed ball of snow hits her back. She turns around to see Clint grinning cheekily.

“Cheater. You know I can’t retaliate while I’m holding him.”

“Hey, I gotta get my amusement in where I can,” he says, following her back up the porch steps and into the house. He bends down to remove his shoes while Laura bounces Cooper around a little more, and then when Clint has shed most of his outerwear, he reaches his hands forward.

“You good here?”

Laura nods, kissing him as Clint secures Cooper in his arms. “I’ll get the tea started if you can get him changed and get him to sleep. Maybe the snow tired him out.” She’d seen the sleepy look in her son’s eyes, but Laura also knew enough about motherhood now to know those looks didn’t necessarily mean peace and quiet.

“Let’s hope,” Clint mutters, walking up the stairs. While Clint puts Cooper down for what Laura prays is more than a five minute nap, she makes a fresh batch of mint tea for herself and starts the coffee maker for Clint, pouring from the carafe just as she starts to hear him descend from upstairs.

“It’s been below 20 here for days,” Laura admits as she brings both mugs into the living room and puts them down on the coffee table. “I think I’ve overdosed on every single hot beverage.”

“Mmmm.” Clint reaches for his mug. “Heater’s not working?”

“It is, but it’s still cold,” Laura says with a sigh. “I think parts of this house are older than we realized, and I’m sure there are a few places where the breeze comes in.”

Clint creases his brow as she finishes talking. “I’ll take a look before I leave,” he promises. “Maybe I can stick some plywood in the holes, plaster some of the bigger spaces, and then I’ll make sure that the heater isn’t on some strange schedule.”

“All that in twenty-four hours?” Laura asks, causing Clint to smile ruefully.

“Well, I’ve missed my home projects. And you.”

“I can tell,” Laura says pointedly, shifting so that she can curl into him and let her arms settle around his body. She presses her face into his chest, her fingers skirting along the edge of his skin and around his hips. While Clint had felt comfortable and familiar when he first came home, she suddenly realizes that there’s been a definite change in his body structure. The ripples and muscles and curves that Laura knows and loves are still there, the defined abs and love handles that she’s so fond of, but there’s also more muscle. His shoulders are bulkier and his hips are wider, and not in an overweight way.

“You feel different,” she says quietly, and Clint winces.

“New scars, right? Sorry about that. I try, I really do, but sparring sometimes takes a lot out of me. I’m always safe, though. I promise.”

“No.” Laura frowns, moving her hands over his body, trying to push his words out of her mind because this is the first time she’s heard about something called sparring. “You just...feel different. Like your body is different. Like you’ve changed somehow.” She swallows. “It doesn’t feel the same as it did when you left last time.”

Clint exhales quietly, putting his head on her shoulder. “I may have bulked up a bit,” he admits. “But not in a crazy diet way. Just to make sure I’m more fit when I get into the field. And then there’s all that training with archery. You wouldn’t believe how much muscle it takes. I have pain in places I didn’t _know_ I could feel pain.”

“Anything else you’re doing?” She takes his fingers in her hands, turning them over in her palm. They’re also something that’s changed, they’re more calloused than they were before and slightly rougher around the edges. But they’re still soft as anything, belying the harshness they show on the surface, softness that Laura loves every time he puts his hands on her body.

Clint stiffens a bit but shakes his head. “Not really,” he says tiredly. “Just trying to get my feet on the ground with this new job. I’ve got some meetings coming up, some training and tests, and hopefully they’ll start sending me out soon.”

Laura nods, feeling like she should say more, but she’s tired and vulnerable and all she really cares about right now is that Clint is home.

“Hey.” Clint’s voice drops. “You know I love you, right? Both of you. I do this so I can come home and give you guys a good life.”

“I know,” she says slowly. “But it doesn’t mean that it’s not hard. It doesn’t mean that I don’t wish you were here more.”

“It’ll get easier,” Clint says, though he sounds uncertain. Laura shakes her head.

“I don’t _want_ it to get easier,” she says softly. “Because at least when it’s hard, I still think about you. If it gets easier, I might forget.”

“You’re gonna forget me, huh?” Clint asks with a grin but Laura doesn’t return his smile, pulling away.

“What if I do, Clint? My grandmother, she died only a few years ago, and now...sometimes, I can’t even remember what she sounds like. She hasn’t been gone that long, and I already don’t remember her as well as I used to.” She hears her voice crack but doesn’t care, burrowing into him as his arm tightens around her.

“Don’t think like that,” he says quietly. “I’m never going to disappear for so long that you won’t be able to contact me when I’m away.”

“You think you can promise that?” Laura raises her head, her eyes wet. “I love you, Clint, but this job doesn’t seem like the type of thing where you can just tell me that you’ll always find a way to be here. Even this whole twenty-four hours thing…” She takes a breath. “What if something happens? What if you’re away for too long, and what if I forget you? What if _he_ forgets you? He’s barely one.”

“Laura.” Clint holds her more tightly. “Laura, I am never, _ever_ going to be more than five steps away from you, or him. Whether it’s me being home, a phone call, a video call...you’re the most important person in my life and that’s never going to change.”

“I can be the most important person in your life, but that doesn’t matter,” Laura says a little desperately. “You can’t...what if they send you somewhere and you have to be away for months at a time? What if there’s an emergency and you can’t come home? What if it’s not always so easy as you being in a training center and buying time for a day? There are too many variables, Clint.”

Clint puts his lips in a straight line, finding her eyes. “Do you remember my wedding vow to you?”

Laura meets his gaze, taking a deep breath. “You don’t get to die first.”

“I don’t get to die first,” Clint repeats, stroking her hair, and Laura lets herself curl into him again.

“At least you smell the same,” she says, trying to laugh. Clint does, the sound reverberating out of his chest and sending vibrations against her eardrum.

“I love you, Laur. I love you more than _anything_. You know that.”

Laura snuggles against his body, sighing against his skin, and tries to find comfort in his words. “I know.”

 

***

 

Clint’s work schedule is so hectic for the first few months of the year that Laura’s initially worried he won’t be able to make it back home in time for Cooper’s first birthday -- even though he assures her numerous times that come hell or high water, he’s not missing his son’s big day. Laura believes him, but she’s also realized the nature of his job doesn’t exactly lend itself to keeping promises, and so she breathes a large sigh of relief when he walks in the door after breakfast on the first day of April with a big smile, dropping his bag for an uninterrupted two week visit.

Aside from her parents, it had been easier than Laura had expected to explain Clint’s suddenly too-often absence to people that she worked with at school, or to members of her book club, or to the mothers of the babies Cooper took to playing with often -- they assumed he was some high profile army husband, doing classified but important work that allowed Laura to live comfortably in a large house in the middle of nowhere with a kid, on a part-time TA salary.

“That’s the last of it,” Laura says warily as she watches the caterers bring large aluminum foil pans into the kitchen and out to the patio via the back door. She turns back to the table, putting the finishing touches on the large multi-layer Sesame Street cake with Cooper’s name spelled out over the top, and rolls her shoulders while wondering if she should ask Clint for yet _another_ cup of coffee.

“Hey, take a break,” Clint says as he follows the caterers in, pausing to kiss her neck. “You’re going to be exhausted before the party even starts.”

Laura shakes her head. “I need to still set the table and put up the decorations, and my parents aren’t even coming over for another hour,” she says, unable to keep the whine from her voice. Clint rubs her shoulders.

“Okay, so why don’t you go upstairs and get him dressed and _I’ll_ do all of that?”

Laura finds she can’t say no and she also feels a little guilty, because she’d be lying if she admitted she hadn’t gotten used to doing everything by herself. Clint seems to sense her hesitation and leans over to kiss her again.

“Hey -- look, I know you’re used to running yourself ragged. But I’m here, and we’re in this together. Remember? So let me be here for you.”

Laura relents, putting the knife down and kissing him back. “Don’t mess up the cake,” she says before she leaves, and Clint smiles.

“I’ll do my very best.”

Laura climbs the stairs, trying not to wince in response to aching joints that she swears weren’t so bad when she got up this morning, popping two Advil before rousing Cooper from his nap by placing one hand gently on his back.

“I know,” Laura murmurs when the baby blinks up at Laura, slowly coming awake, his smile and curious face dissolving into a cry that means he’s probably been woken up before he was ready. “Trust me, Coop. I know.” Laura reaches into the crib and picks him up, hoisting him onto her shoulder and sings quietly while walking around the room, adding a spring to her step on every other word until Cooper’s cries start to quiet.

“Let’s get you dressed so people can see how handsome you are, huh? Because let me tell you, your dad can’t _wait_ to show you off.”

"Ma!" Cooper answers as Laura eases him into a striped blue and white outfit, securing small socks and shoes on his feet.

“You’re going to ruin this in five minutes, but it’ll be worth it,” Laura says as she picks Cooper up and kisses him on the head. When she walks back downstairs, she’s surprised to find that Clint has finished decorating, and also that her parents have shown up ahead of schedule.

“Let me see my big, one-year-old grandson,” Elizabeth says when she enters the kitchen, holding out her arms.

“Almost one,” Laura corrects, handing him over. “We’re a few days off.”

“He’s not gonna remember,” Clint says, coming in from the porch and wiping his hands on his shirt. “I know, I know -- don’t worry. I’m changing,” he assures Laura off her dirty look as he walks by, heading upstairs. Laura exchanges a glance with her mother.

“Don’t look at me,” says Elizabeth with a raised brow. “Dad was barely around the first year of your birth. But I gave Grandma Lila a lot of those looks.”

Laura laughs and heads to the fridge for iced tea as Elizabeth sits down at the table to give Cooper her full attention. Half an hour later, the doorbell rings with the first invited guest -- Hannah and her husband, sans dog -- while the rest of the small party trickles in over the hour, visitors that range from Laura’s fellow TAs that she used to go to drinks with to slightly older women from her book club, who come armed with kids of their own, as well as a few friends of Laura’s parents. Laura gathers presents and offers drinks and spends her time alternating between running around and making sure her son isn’t completely losing it with the mass amount of people clamoring for a picture or a hug.

“Hey,” Clint says after he finally corners her when she comes out of the guest bathroom. He’s slumped against the wall. “You doing okay?”

Laura shrugs. “Tired,” she says, stifling a yawn. “But I’m willing to push through, because I can’t believe he hasn’t screamed his head off yet.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got a few hours to go,” Clint says with a long sigh. “Your dad’s got him now. I figured you deserved a bit of a break.” It’s not until she looks down that she realizes he’s holding out a small glass filled with an amber colored concoction.

“You _are_ aware that thanks to pregnancy, my tolerance has devolved to nothing at this point, right?” Laura asks as she takes a small sip, before looking up with a smile, recognizing the taste. “Clint. You made me the Barton special?”

“Long Island with Patron,” he says smartly. “You know, I never used that recipe again after you schooled me in bartending.”

Laura laughs, taking another sip. “Dare I ask why?”

“Because of this,” Clint says simply, gesturing towards her. “This is ours. I don’t want it to be anyone else’s.”

Laura’s aware that it’s quite possibly the dumbest reasoning, because the recipe and the drink itself isn’t exactly unique. But the sentiment behind the words make her feel warm, and her face flushes with a blush that she knows doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just in case you weren’t aware of how much I love you,” he says when he bends down to kiss her, licking the stray alcohol from her lips before returning to the party. Laura takes another drink, smiling around the glass still raised to her mouth, and then follows slowly behind.

 

***

 

A month later, Laura’s halfway home from running errands when her beloved Honda Accord jerks, sputters and then abruptly dies after stopping at an intersection. Laura thinks that the only positive thing about the situation is that Clint’s training duties have lessened somewhat, and he’s currently home more often than he’s in New York, which means she can call him to pick her up.

“You requested a knight in shining armor?” Clint asks gaily when he arrives in the car he’s borrowed, and Laura wants to scream.

“It’s not funny,” Laura protests indignantly. “This car has been with me since college. It’s gotten me through everything, even Cooper’s birth. Not to mention, we’re going to have to buy a new one...do you know how expensive cars have gotten in the past few years?”

Clint’s face twists into a grimace, the teasing demeanor dropping off as Laura’s words settle in. “Now I’m regretting selling my car,” he grumbles. Laura sighs to herself, because she had been the one to spearhead that decision and she knows it.

“It made sense at the time,” she mutters back, because it had -- with money still slowly coming in and Clint barely home, there hadn’t been a need for two cars. “Come on. Let’s at least get home...maybe you can take a look and see if there’s any way to salvage it.”

“Are you actually taking advantage of my blue collar skills?” Clint asks in mock surprise.

“In this case, I am.”

Clint manages to hotwire the car enough to get it to start again, and Laura follows as he drives the rest of the way home, slowing to a stop in the driveway.

“She’s pretty beat,” Clint says once they both get out of the car. “I can tell from the way the engine is running. But I’ll take a look and make sure.”

“Thanks,” Laura says warily as she unstraps Cooper from his car seat and hands him over. “I’ll get this back to Hannah.” She climbs into the truck and returns the vehicle with little issue, offering up a profuse apology along with a promise of homemade cherry pie for good measure. By the time she’s walked back to the house, Clint’s gotten Cooper settled outside in his portable playpen and has the hood of the car open. He’s bending over, his flannel tied around his waist, working intricately in the unseasonably warm weather and Laura can see beads of sweat dripping down his face and onto his grey t-shirt.

“Take it off,” Laura calls only half-jokingly as she approaches carrying two glasses of iced coffee, one black and one with three sugars.

“Da! Dada dada daaaaaaaa da!” Cooper waves around a plastic duck that he promptly sticks into his mouth and sucks on joyously.

“The peanut gallery agrees with me,” she adds with a smirk as he raises his head at her voice, hitting the back of it on the way up.

“Ow!”

“Serves you right for not stripping when requested,” Laura says smartly, handing him the glass of black coffee. “Dare I ask?”

He shakes his head. “You could probably get a few more miles out of it on a good day, and we could probably take it to the shop and get it fixed enough to run for maybe a few more years.” He leans back to look at the car, squinting. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not worth it to spend the money that would be needed to get it to run again properly. It’s already old.”

Laura feels her stomach drop. “So we have to start shopping for a new car, huh?” She’s unsure whether her depression is coming from the fact that she’s not sure if they can _afford_ a new car at the moment, or if it’s because this is something that really does feel like the closing of another chapter of her life. Clint seems to sense her feelings, because he circles his arm around her.

“I don’t know if I can survive without a car,” she continues. “I’m going to have to borrow Hannah’s truck for the second time this week. Dog hair and all.”

“Maybe SHIELD has something for us,” Clint says slowly, and Laura groans.

“Are you going to use your new job as an excuse to fix everything that’s out of your control?” Laura asks pointedly. Clint looks slightly hurt and Laura feels a little bad, because it’s not that she wouldn’t mind a shiny car, or whatever SHIELD would probably send her. But Laura doesn’t _want_ something shiny and new. She’d take her old, broken down Honda with the groaning engine and stains on the floor mats any day of the week.

“I’ll do some research tonight after dinner,” he answers, kissing her on the side of the head. “Before other activities. We’ll figure something out.”

“Other activities?” Laura asks skeptically, putting a hand on his stomach and Clint nuzzles her hair.

“You know... _other_ activities. Like that stripping you asked about before.”

She side-eyes him. “If you’re insinuating you’re going to give me a show later, I’m going to be forced to videotape for posterity.”

“Laura Foster Barton.” Clint’s voice takes on an incredulous tone as both his eyebrows rise. “I _knew_ you had a wild side in you.”

Laura punches him lightly and then sips on her coffee, training one ear towards Cooper, who is still babbling nonsensical words rather happily. “Maybe we can finally get a minivan,” she says after a long pause and Clint gives her a look.

“Are you serious?”

“No, I was thinking a horse and buggy,” Laura says sarcastically. “Of course I’m serious. You always complain I need a bigger car, anyway.”

“So why can’t we get a truck?” Clint asks cautiously.

“Because I’m not driving my baby around in a truck when it’s potentially unsafe,” she responds. “If you want to get a truck at some point, I’m sure we can find one that needs to be fixed up. I want a real car, Clint.”

“Trucks _are_ real cars,” he grouses, and Laura glares at him.

“What’s wrong with a minivan, Clint?”

“Nothing,” he hedges. “It’s just that minivans are so…”

“Big?”

Clint makes a face. “Suburban,” he mutters finally, and Laura sighs.

“I’m very sorry that I’m pigeonholing you into a dad life,” she says, unable to keep the bite out of her voice, because she has a feeling he doesn’t mean his words in the way they’ve come out. “You can go back to SHIELD and your bachelor pad, if you want.”

“No, Laur -- come on, that’s not what I meant,” Clint says in frustration. “It’s just...it makes it real, okay? Does that make sense?”

Laura stares up at him and then shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “It doesn’t. Because I fail to see what part of this life hasn’t been _real_ since Cooper was born.”

“Ugh. I’m doing this all wrong.” He takes a breath, putting two hands on her shoulders. “Look, I love domestic life. I really do. I love you and I love Cooper and I love _this_ , and I don’t want to be anywhere else. Not even at SHIELD.”

“But?” Laura prompts instantly, because part of her almost doesn’t believe the words.

“But, I guess I never saw myself as a guy with the minivan running errands and picking up my kids after school,” Clint admits. “That kind of stuff...I didn’t grow up like that. When I’m reminded of it in that way, I just feel like I’m some kind of an impostor.”

“You’re not an impostor,” Laura says gently, recognizing the way he’s staring to beat himself up unnecessarily. “You’re my husband. And you’re Cooper’s father. And I know you didn’t grow up surrounded by white picket fences like this, but you make your own choices, like you’ve been doing for most of your life. You make your own future. With or without a minivan,” she adds, tugging at his hand until he turns to her.

“Look around,” she continues quietly, nodding as he closes his eyes. There’s a stillness settling over the farm, quiet marred by only Cooper’s baby noises and the loud caw of what Laura thinks might be an eagle in the distance. “Forget about trying to fit in. This is us, and this is all we need, no matter what else we have in our lives. Just, for once, try to _be_.” Laura inhales deeply, a sound and action that he mimics, and when Clint opens his eyes, his gaze is clear again.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs and Laura nods slowly, squeezing his hand once more before kissing him.

“I knew the guy I married was in there somewhere,” she says with a small smile and Clint rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking at her in embarrassment.

“We’ll look for a minivan.”

“That wasn’t exactly the apology I was gunning for,” Laura responds. “But thank you.”

Clint manages a smile. “Can I make it up to you in bed tonight, then?”

Laura’s started walking back towards Cooper, and she turns around with an eyebrow raise at the question.

“I’ll think about it.” She takes Cooper out of his playpen and sits down beside him as Clint goes back to looking at the car, and the rest of the day is lazy and uninterrupted, Laura electing to order take-out from the Chinese restaurant in town rather than cook. After she finally gets Cooper down to sleep and after the plastic cartons have been piled high in the trash, they curl up on the couch together, the computer settled firmly between their laps and two cups of coffee sitting side-by-side on the table.

“Nothing too big.”

“Nothing too expensive.”

“Can we get one of those cars that have televisions in the back so Coop doesn’t scream when we drive him around?”

Laura shoots him a glare. “How much are you _making_ at this job, anyway?”

In the end, Clint grabs a pad of paper and sketches out notes for five cars that seem feasible for their price range and needs, along with pros and cons for each, throwing the pad on the table tiredly after another hour.

“We’ll go to the dealership tomorrow,” he says, slouching back against the cushion. “Maybe Hannah’s husband has some tips on what to look for. I think their truck is pretty new.”

Laura drags a hand over his chest. “I’ll call them tomorrow,” she says before getting up, holding out her hand. “But in the meantime, I want that apology you promised earlier.”

The smile on Clint’s face is shadowed by the dusk penetrating the living room, but Laura can see the glint reflected in his eyes as she pulls him up. They’re halfway to the stairs when Clint suddenly stumbles; Laura doesn’t think much of it, figuring he’s tripped again until he all but sinks to the ground and doesn’t pick himself up.

“ _Clint_ ,” Laura says in alarm, dropping down almost instantly as he curls in on himself. She realizes he’s practically hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling in a speed that doesn’t match his breathing. Laura pulls him into her lap as she strokes his hair.

“Clint. Breathe for me, okay?”

He does, or he tries to, and Laura takes most of his body in her arms, running her fingers down the curve of his back, over scars that she still doesn’t know how he acquired, trying to soothe a fear that she doesn’t exactly know the root of.

“Clint,” she repeats when he doesn’t respond. She keeps her voice quiet, a whisper among loud, harsh gasps. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

It takes another moment before Clint looks up, dragging in a large breath, and Laura can see the sweat beginning to bead along his skull.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, and when he shudders, Laura thinks his breathing might be starting to return to normal.

“I’m here,” she repeats quietly. “ _We’re_ here.”

He takes a hitched breath and then another, and then sags into her in what Laura thinks is both exhaustion and defeat.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice sounding like he’s just run a marathon, and Laura wants to ask what he’s apologizing for. She doesn’t, though, continuing to let her touch soothe him, until she’s satisfied with the steadiness of his breathing and speed of his heart rate.

“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s get you off the floor, at least. I’ll make you some more coffee.”

“Alcohol?”

Laura sighs but nods, helping him up slowly and wrapping an arm around his waist as she leads him to the kitchen. Laura takes out two glasses from the cupboard and then opens another cupboard door, bringing a bottle of whiskey to the table.

“You hate straight liquor.”

“I don’t hate it,” Laura answers, gripping the neck of the bottle with two fingers and pouring more generously than she knows she should. “I just never developed a taste for it. Not the way you did.”

“Comes with the bartending territory,” Clint says as he picks up his glass, swirling the alcohol around. Laura takes a long, slow drink, letting the whiskey burn its way down her lungs, and then puts a hand on his arm.

“What happened?”

Clint closes his eyes and bows his head. “SHIELD.”

Laura purses her lips; it’s an answer she’s suspected but not the one that she’s looking for.

“Can you…” She hesitates, watching him take another drink, suddenly feeling like she’s completely out of her element. “Can you talk about it?”

Clint’s quiet for a long time. “I had to prepare for something. A job. They showed me a few videos, so that I knew what to expect,” he says and Laura doesn’t miss the way he’s carefully phrasing the question, leaving out details. “And I saw things.”

Laura bites down on the admonishments floating around in her mind -- _I didn’t know you were being shown potentially dangerous things, I didn’t know you were going out into the field so soon, why didn’t you tell me about this_ \-- and tries her hand at gentle prodding, instead.

“What kind of things?”

“Things I don’t want to remember,” he says a little tightly. “People getting hurt. Young people. Girls... _children_...the images just stuck.” He grabs for the bottle again, tilting it until it spills more liquid into his cup. “All these people who were never saved before I came along, and right now, I’m not even doing anything to help them.”

Laura reaches up, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s why you took this job, though, isn’t it? You can’t let the guilt of something you’re not responsible for keep you from thinking you can make a difference, Clint. Nothing's your fault.”

“But I _see_ them,” he says desperately. “I hear them, sometimes. The screams and the yells and...Laura, these kids aren’t that much older than Cooper is right now. This kind of stuff is happening out there and you’re right, I’m going to be the one sent out to make a difference. What if I fail? What if I fail at this job? What if I can’t save anyone and I have to live with that?”

Laura watches the way his gaze falls to the table and her heart instantly splits in half. “You’ve never failed at anything in your life, Clint. And before you try to feed me some bullshit about dropping out of high school or not staying in the military, those things weren’t you failing. They were you making choices for yourself. Choices that led you _here_ , to me.” She rubs her thumb over the back of his palm. “Please believe that.”

She can feel his limbs trembling and he takes another drink, gripping the glass with his free hand. “What if --”

“Clint,” Laura says quietly. “You know you can’t live your life in a spiral of _what if_. You are _good_ at what you do.”

He snorts in response. “You don’t know what I do.”

“No,” Laura says, trying to ignore the anger that’s fueled by the question, knowing it won’t help right now. “I don’t. But I do know who you are, and that doesn’t change, no matter what you do for a living. You’re compassionate, and you’re honest, and you’re kind. And Clint..I promise that will help someone, in the end. You’ll help people by just being you. You _have_ to believe that.”

He knocks back another drink and then reaches for the bottle again. Laura lets him, even though she knows she probably shouldn’t, given the way his words are slurring. “It seems silly,” he says finally, his voice low. “Freaking out, panicking over the fact that I could fail people I don’t even know.”

Laura shakes her head, feeling her head spin from the alcohol, just enough to make her feel tired. “I don’t think so,” she opposes. “You’ve always cared about people, and you’ve always looked for the good in them. You’ve always given up part of your heart to care for others, no matter who they are. It’s part of why I fell in love with you.”

“Just a part?” Clint asks raggedly, and Laura knocks back the rest of her drink, figuring if she’s going to get through this, she might as well quite literally leave all her inhibitions on the table.

“Just a part,” she repeats, pulling him up. They both rock unsteadily on their feet, Laura moreso than Clint, and she once again curses pregnancy for her low tolerance as he catches her easily around the waist, pulling her back towards him and in for a kiss.

His lips are warm and wet from the alcohol and she can taste the leftover whiskey on his tongue; it fuels her brain and swirls through her saliva like a drug, making her desperate and hungry and needy. She scratches her nails into the back of his neck, digging into the skin hardened by days of working under the sun and a few thick cuts.

“Upstairs,” he manages when they break apart and Laura stumbles again as she pulls him out of the kitchen, leaving the two glasses and half-drained bottle on the table. They barely make it into the bedroom before Clint’s tugging her shirt off and trying to undo her pants.

“Love you...love...love you so much.” He’s murmuring the words against her skin, though Laura knows he’s not really drunk on alcohol as much as he’s probably drunk on their impending lovemaking. _It’s been too long_  she realizes as he pulls her pants down and pushes her onto the bed. And Laura’s found that it’s not the sex that she’s missed as much as it’s the intimacy -- the simple act of Clint touching her in a way that feels uniquely special, rough hands rubbing over her body with a gentleness so tender she can’t even feel the coarse skin or the scars and cuts that she knows line his palms. It’s the way he shares his breath with her when they kiss, the way it swims like a breeze of comfort and familiarity over her skin, a tide rushing in that makes her feel warm and at home.

She lets Clint pull at her body and she lets him find his comfort in the one thing she knows he can put his roots in, and when he finally collapses next to her, sinking into the pillow, his delirious smile and half-lidded eyes speak volumes.

 

***

 

Laura counts herself lucky that given the fact Cooper liked to put his hands in almost everything that moved (or didn’t move), he’d avoided any kind of illnesses that Laura knows are common in infants. When he finally does develop a small cold, including a runny nose that lasts almost a week, she tries not to be too worried and tells herself that it’s common, given he doesn’t have any other symptoms that raise red flags.

“You know, I liked it better when he was spitting up on me,” Clint remarks as he grabs for another tissue, wiping it across Cooper's face, which is a mess of snot and also dried tears. Laura sighs, rubbing her forehead with two fingers.

“Just wait until he gets his first real stomach bug. You gonna be okay dealing with his throw-up while worrying that _you’re_ going to get sick?”

“Hey, I spent years cleaning up drunk people’s puke in a bar. I think I can handle my son.”

Laura smiles and looks back down from where she’s been alternating between doing TA work and crunching numbers to compensate for the minivan they’ve just put a down payment on, thanks to a helpful advance from SHIELD that Clint absolutely _swears_ he did not push for.

“I’ll take him,” she says after a moment when Cooper starts to cry again and she realizes her concentration is probably going to be shot when it comes to looking at formulas. “Maybe I’ll see if I can get him down for a bit.”

“Okay if I go work on the porch before it gets dark? I wanna finish putting those screws in while I remember.”

Laura nods as she walks over, taking her squirming, sniffling son from his arms. “Be home in time for dinner,” she teases and he makes a face.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

Laura shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re getting close.” She kisses him before heading up the stairs, bringing Cooper into his bedroom.

“What’s the matter, Coop?” She murmurs the words into his hair, pressing his face to her body, and immediately feels something wet slide down her neck.

“I know,” she says soothingly, reaching over and grabbing a tissue from the dresser. “I know that this doesn’t make you happy. I think your daddy is more upset about this cold than you are, and he’s not even a baby. Even though he is.” She starts singing softly, stroking Cooper’s head while wiping his nose and his face every so often when he starts to realize he’s uncomfortable. After another ten minutes or so, he quiets, his head falling slack onto her shoulder. Laura kisses him gently as she puts him down in the crib.

She walks back into her room and sneaks a glance out the window, catching sight of Clint puttering around, the door to the barn thrown open. Laura takes that as a sign that she can get away with a small amount of relaxation, at least until her child wakes up, and walks back downstairs to boil a kettle of tea. She steeps her apricot-scented bag in the mug Clint had recently brought back from New York; the one that’s too gaudy and screams of being a tourist souvenir, the one that feels and looks out of place at the farm among her simple butterfly mugs and handmade owl cups. It’s oversized, though, and Laura likes using it when she wants to savor her hot drinks for longer than usual.

She returns to her room and stretches out on the bed with the mug between her legs, letting the warmth seep from the ceramic into her bones as she picks up her newest library book. The feeling of contentment is thrilling -- Laura rarely gets time to sit and read anymore, even with Clint home -- so much so that she loses track of how much time has passed until Cooper awakens, the small cry transmitting over the baby monitor and pulling her out of a scene of _Lolita_. Laura puts down her book and moves the tea to the bedside table, walking into his room.

“Hey, little man,” she says quietly, leaning over and watching Cooper come awake slowly, a small scrunched face giving way to confused eyes and lips that open and close at a rapid pace while he squirms back and forth. Laura smiles at the sight, because while he’s not technically an infant anymore, watching her son wake up is one of the things she loves most about him being a baby. She leans forward to pick him up and immediately after doing so, she notices that the back of his head is damp. When she looks closer, she also realizes that his face is flushed rose pink.

Cooper lets out a cry and what sounds like a pitiful cough, and Laura tightens her arm around him, warding off the feeling of anxiety in her stomach as she heads to the kitchen for a bottle. She rarely uses them anymore now that Cooper is old enough to eat solid food, but she's kept a few as comfort items, especially with Cooper's current cold. Cooper turns his head almost instantly, refusing to eat in a way that Laura can tell is more than just him being fussy, and she puts the bottle back in the fridge before walking outside.

“Clint?”

“Hmmm?”

She hears him before she sees him; he’s stretched out underneath the porch with his legs sticking into the grass like a comical version of _The Wizard of Oz_. After a few moments, he slides out enough so that she can see his face, which is sweaty and red in its own right. He narrows his gaze when she doesn’t respond right away, squinting into the sun without sitting up fully.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think something’s up with Cooper,” Laura says, trying to keep the visible panic from her voice, dragging a hand over his head. Clint grunts as he gets up, dusting his hands on his jeans as he walks forward to meet them.

“Hey, kiddo.” He lifts the baby from Laura’s arms and she doesn’t bother to yell for once about his dirty hands, mostly because of the glance he shoots at her. “Warm, right? Like, really warm?”

She nods, unsure if Clint’s confirmation makes her feel more relieved or more panicked. “I thought maybe it was just me.”

Clint shakes his head. “If it’s just you, it’s me, too,” he says, his face taking on a worried look. “Is that how he woke up?”

Laura bites her lip as he hands Cooper back. “I put him down and he seemed to sleep okay, but now he feels way too hot. And he just refused to eat, which isn’t like him. It’s like _you_ refusing not to eat.”

Clint gives her a look, though Laura can’t help but notice the anxiety spreading over his face. “Take his temp, maybe? I’ll be inside in a sec after I clean up out here.”

Laura bounces Cooper against her as she walks back inside the house, attempting to keep the fear she feels bubbling up in her stomach from spilling into her veins. _Children get sick all the time_ , she reminds herself as she strokes Cooper’s head, repeating the mantra as she walks into the bathroom, gently easing the small baby thermometer into his ear. Cooper wiggles and squirms and lets out another string of letters that sound vaguely like the word “no.”

“I know, little guy. I know,” Laura mutters, keeping her voice gentle. When she takes the thermometer away and sees the alarmingly high number, her calm goes out the window.

“His temperature’s rising,” she says tightly as she walks back downstairs, meeting Clint who’s kicking off his shoes. “It’s past 100. It’s way too high. I don’t…” She trails off helplessly as Cooper sniffles again, and Laura notices his breathing is getting heavier, as if it’s suddenly harder for him to draw air. “I don’t know what to do.”

Clint looks equally worried, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Can you call your parents?”

“My parents are on vacation. They’re not going to be able to do anything from Miami except maybe tell me to take him to the hospital.” She pauses. “Maybe we should call the doctor.”

“I can call, but if they say they want him at the hospital, it’s going to take us forever to get to there without a car,” Clint returns slowly. “Even if we call Hannah.”

“I don’t care,” Laura says sharply, practically shoving an overly fussy Cooper into his arms. “I need to know what’s wrong and I’m not taking some stupid chance that it’s nothing.” Her heart is pounding loudly as she picks up her phone and when she dials the number for her pediatrician, she finds herself thankful for the fact that a small town also means personal relationships -- and personal phone numbers for people that felt comfortable enough to form that kind of bond.

“Laura?” Shana Cohen answers the phone sounding confused. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” Laura attempts to steady what she knows is a shaky voice and imagines talking to the doctor’s face, the portrait of a kindly Jewish mother. “Cooper’s had a cold for a little over a week. We’ve had no issues so far, but today he got suddenly worse. He has no interest in eating, and his fever just spiked to 102.”

“And he’s had a cold for a week?” Dr. Cohen sounds both concerned and thoughtful.

“A runny nose, mostly, but he hasn’t put up too much of a fight about it. We weren’t worried until now.”

“And no other symptoms?”

“Nothing that we can see,” Laura answers and Dr. Cohen sounds like she’s walking around, her heels clicking loudly against the floor.

“The severe cold symptoms combined with the disinterest in eating might mean that he has something called Respiratory Syncytial Virus -- we call it RSV for short. It’s quite common in children under age two.”

“But it’s treatable?” Laura asks, suddenly feeling unsure and upset. She wishes she could call her mother, if only to ask her to come over and reassure her that everything would be okay.

“It is,” Dr. Cohen says gently. “It’s typically not a serious condition unless a child is a preemie or has heart issues, both of which don’t apply to Cooper. How’s his breathing?”

“A little more labored than usual,” Laura admits, looking up. Clint’s still holding Cooper but he’s walked away and is standing near the living room window, his head bowed and his stance slouched.

“Make him as comfortable as you can, and try to keep him upright to help with his breathing,” Dr. Cohen offers. “Try to keep feeding him as well, even if he refuses, so he doesn’t get dehydrated. If his fever’s still high, you can give him some ibuprofen in small amounts. That should help.”

Laura closes her eyes, trying to calm her nerves. “Thank you,” she says quietly, pressing the phone harder against her ear. “Anything...anything else?”

“His fever should go down pretty quickly,” Dr. Cohen continues. “But if his symptoms get worse, feel free to call me again. Children with RSV can take over two weeks to recover. It’ll be a slow process, but he should be driving you crazy again in no time.”

Laura’s chest suddenly doesn't feel quite as tight. “Thank you,” she repeats gratefully, and she can practically hear Dr. Cohen smile over the phone.

“I know how scary it can be when your child gets sick, especially when you’re a new mother,” she says gently. “You were right to call and check on his symptoms. I’ll keep my phone on in case you need me for any other questions, okay?”

“You’re wonderful,” Laura says with a sigh of relief, before hanging up. She walks back towards Clint, and when she gets closer she notices he’s hanging up from his own call.

“Who was that?” Laura asks and Clint shrugs evasively.

“A friend. What did the doctor say?”

Laura swallows, shifting her eyes to the phone and then back to her son who is starting to cry. “She thinks Cooper has something called RSV. We can look it up but it’s normal, apparently -- and the symptoms match. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do for him other than try to get him comfortable.” She strokes Cooper’s head in an attempt to quiet his wails, as Clint looks at the phone again.

“I know some things that might help,” and when Laura gives him a confused look, he gestures towards the stairs. “A cold bath, and a humidifier. It’ll help him breathe easier. We have a portable one in the basement, the old one from our apartment before we moved.”

Laura stares at him, her brow furrowing. “Are you sure? The doctor didn’t tell me any of that.”

“I --”

“Ah do...ma no!” Clint’s words are cut off by Cooper squirming in discomfort, spilling out of Clint’s arms, and the string of broken words combined with the baby’s miserable looking face makes Laura want to cry.

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Clint says over Cooper’s cries. “Let’s just try, okay? If we can’t do anything else, maybe we can at least bring his fever down.”

Laura finds herself nodding, even though she’s still unsure of how much she trusts this randomly acquired advice. “Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll get his bath ready if you find the humidifier?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clint rubs her shoulder as he heads down to the basement and Laura takes another deep breath. Cooper’s skin is practically burning and she starts singing again as she walks up the stairs, attempting to get both of their minds off the situation. After testing the water and filling the bath, she sits down and undresses Cooper, placing him carefully in the tub and keeping her hands on his body, helping him to sit correctly.

“I know, baby. I know,” she says over his cries as Clint walks in, carrying an old radio that Laura recognizes from one of their recent trips into town. He had found it at an antique shop and had been interested in it because he liked the way it looked. But after the shop owner had told him rather apologetically that it hadn’t worked for years, Clint had taken him up on the challenge and brought it home, fixing it up easily in less than a week. He had insisted on bringing it to New York with him.

“Did your unprecedented source ask you to play music, too?” Laura deadpans as he sits down and puts it on the floor next to them. Clint laughs and somehow, the fact that she can joke with him makes her feel better.

“No. I just figured it would give us something to listen to besides his crying so we didn’t freak out.” He fiddles with the knob, until a steady stream of oldies music starts to filter quietly out of the speakers. “I listen to it sometimes, when I miss you,” he says after a pause. “At work. It reminds me of him...and you. It makes me feel like I’m home.” He reaches into the water, splashing some on Cooper’s body as his son makes another face.

“Ba _no_.”

“Yeah, baths aren’t fun, kiddo,” Clint says matter-of-factly. “They’re less fun when you’re not feeling good.”

Laura watches as Clint traces a broad hand over Cooper’s small shoulders, large palms gently massaging his body, and her throat closes up. “You know, when you go to birthing classes, or when you go to check-ups...they tell you what to expect,” she says quietly. “They don’t tell you what it feels like when your child needs you, and how helpless you’ll feel when you can’t do anything.”

Clint gives a half-smile. “For what it’s worth, I would say you’re doing pretty good right now.”

Laura shakes her head, looking at Cooper. “I don’t know. I’m freaking out. I’m still freaking out.”

“Because you care,” Clint points out. “Laura, trust me. You’re the best damn mother I’ve ever seen. You make me so proud every day to be your husband, and I’m never letting you forget that, even if you think you can’t handle things.”

His words make Laura want to cry again but she manages to hold her emotions back as she lifts Cooper out of the tub and wraps all twenty pounds of flailing legs and limbs in a towel.

“I’ll get him dressed,” Clint says after they both walk back to his room, where Clint has plugged in the portable humidifier. “You wanna grab the blankets from downstairs?”

Laura nods, passing Cooper over before walking back to the living room, gathering the two fuzzy blankets from the couch. Clint’s phone, she notices, is lying haphazardly on the armrest where he’s left it before they went upstairs, and Laura recognizes the tell-tale blinking light of a message. She reaches forward and then stops herself, knowing she can’t be that intrusive, even if there were things about Clint’s new job that continually bothered her -- like his lack of detail that often accompanied his stories about what he did and where he went and who he worked with.

“I think you have a message from work,” she says when she walks back into the room, finding Clint rocking back and forth in the chair with an open book on his knee; he’s discarded his own shirt, allowing Cooper, now fully outfitted in his pajamas, to sit on his lap with his head curled into Clint’s bare chest.

“Oh.” Clint looks at her and Laura thinks there’s a little bit of surprise hidden in his gaze. “Did you --”

“No,” Laura says softly, swallowing unasked questions, because she doesn’t have it in her to fight with him right now. “I didn’t look. I just noticed your phone was beeping.” She glances at Cooper, who looks halfway between awake and asleep, his loud breathing mingled with the steady hum of the humidifier. “How is he?”

“Finally got him to relax a little,” Clint says, motioning towards the book. “And I took his temp again before I dressed him. Fever seems to be dropping slowly, so hopefully it’ll continue to go down over the next few hours if we keep him comfortable like this.” He sighs, arching his head back, and the dim light of the room casts multiple ghosts over his face, dark shadows that make his eyes look more tired than Laura knows he probably he is.

“If you want, you can probably grab a quick nap.”

Laura twists a lock of hair between her fingers. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep anytime soon,” she admits and Clint smiles sadly in understanding.

“Want to hold him for a bit, then? I can go make some coffee.”

Laura tries to make her heart stop beating out of her chest, a combination of lingering fear and too much adrenaline. “Can you make tea? The herbal stuff that my mom gave us?”

He nods and gets up slowly, trying not to disturb Cooper, and Laura takes his seat in the rocking chair as Clint passes Cooper over. Laura realizes he’s right; Cooper skin is still warm and sweaty but his breathing is slightly less labored than it had been before, and his skin doesn’t feel quite as much like she’s touching fire. That realization calms her a little, and she kisses his head.

“You’re going to make mommy and daddy grow old before we have the chance to give you a brother or sister,” she chides quietly, watching her son’s half-lidded eyes become fully closed. She rubs his back carefully, singing lullabies quietly under her breath until Clint comes back into the room holding two steaming mugs.

“You’re a pretty good parent, you know,” he murmurs as he takes a small sip of tea, putting the other mug on the dresser. Laura forces out a smile.

“So are you,” she answers and Clint crosses the floor, bending down to kiss her head before burying the side of his face into her hair.

“Guess we’re both doing okay at this parenting thing, right?”

Laura can’t stop the small laugh that bursts from her throat, the one choked with a cry, and she instantly sobers.

“Who did you call before?” She inclines her head so that she can meet his eyes. “Who told you what we should do for him, if it wasn’t my parents or the doctor?”

Clint opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I told you,” he says simply. “A friend. Someone who cares. Does it matter?”

It does, but right now, Laura’s too tired and too emotional to ask more questions. She shakes her head slowly and Clint kisses her again while Cooper makes small noises in his sleep. Laura closes her eyes to the sounds of the rocking chair’s creaking joints mingled with Clint quietly slurping at his tea, the formerly broken radio singing songs of paradise and daydreams across the hall.

 

***

 

A month or so after Clint comes clean about his partnership with Natasha, he leaves again for an extended amount of time. Laura thinks at least this time things will be easier, considering she at least knows about what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. The universe apparently doesn’t want to give her that luxury, though, and Laura’s stress and lack of sleep catches up with her quickly, saddling her with a horrible cold that leaves her scared to be around Cooper given that he’s just gotten over his own illness. Laura’s mother stays over for a few nights, taking care of Cooper while Laura curls up with chamomile tea and the humidifier and a thick blanket, until she finally starts to feel better enough to function on her own. When Clint finally does come home, it’s sometime after Laura has fallen asleep in the middle of a re-read of _The Great Gatsby_.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nudging her. Laura straightens up sharply at his touch, the book sliding off her stomach and onto the floor. “Hey, easy.” Clint reaches up and touches her hair, gently letting his fingers run through the dark strands. “It’s just me.”

Laura exhales slowly, her body relaxing from its rigid state as her heartbeat slows. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Clint says apologetically. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never do,” Laura mutters, yawning. “What time is it?”

“One. Maybe.” Clint glances at his watch. “You fell asleep.”

Laura blinks slowly, trying to get her mind working again. “I’ve been sick for a week,” she says miserably, rubbing her eyes. “And he won’t stop screaming. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Clint leans down and kisses her, pressing his lips to her cheek. “Lemme try,” he says as he gets up, putting a hand on her waist. Laura looks down, frowning when she feels something white and rough brush against her skin.

“Clint.”

“I’m fine,” he says immediately and Laura sits up, grabbing for his wrist, noticing for the first time two taped fingers.

“Your hand.”

Clint sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Stop saying you’re fine!” Laura says a little sharply, now fully awake as her gaze settles on the large black and blue mark underneath his right eyelid. “You have broken fingers and a black eye, and you’re not fine. What happened?”

Clint bites down on his lip. “Nat.”

Laura’s eyes grow wider. “ _Natasha_ hurt you?”

“No!” Clint looks exasperated. “She didn’t hurt me, Laur. I told you, we spar sometimes. You know, like...work out together. It’s what I used to do with other agents, but with her, it’s a little more intense.”

“A little more intense,” Laura repeats. “That doesn’t look like something a little more intense. That looks like you got beat up.”

“I didn’t get beat up,” Clint says annoyingly. “I know how to hold my own.”

“I know you know how to hold your own,” she says slowly. “But it doesn’t mean that I’m not worried about you.” She pauses. “You _broke_ two fingers.”

“And they’ll be healed before you know it,” Clint snaps. “Is there anything else you wanna berate me for, or can I go take of my son now?”

Laura stares at him, and then shakes her head. “No,” she says after a moment. “You can go.”

Clint walks out of the room while Laura lies back on the pillow, trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. She wasn’t the person who had been immediately jealous upon hearing that Clint had a partner -- a female partner, at that -- mostly because she trusted her husband’s intentions more than she trusted her own. But the growing feeling of unease at the fact that this partner was responsible for working with him pretty intimately is something that she can’t make herself ignore. She gets up, walking downstairs despite her tiredness, finding Clint sitting up with Cooper in the living room. Ignoring her husband and son, she walks straight into the sunroom where she curls up on the big couch from her parents.

“You wanna come to bed?” Clint asks sometime later, Cooper fast asleep on his arm. Laura puts her lips together in defiance and Clint rolls his eyes as he leaves. After another ten minutes, her nose detects the faint smell of coffee, and Clint’s walking back into the room with a mug and the large quilt from their bed.

“If you’re not going to sleep up there, we’ll sleep down here,” he decides, putting the items down. Laura gives him a look.

“And we’re not going to hear Cooper.”

Clint holds up the baby monitor in his other hand and in the small beam of natural moonlight that sprinkles through the windows, Laura catches sight of something underneath his fingernails, another discovery that makes her throat go dry.

“We need to talk,” she says suddenly, because she knows she can’t ignore the fear shooting through her heart.

“About what?”

Laura swallows. “There’s dried blood,” she says tightly, gesturing to his hands. “On your nails. First broken fingers, and then a black eye, and now blood. What the hell do you _do_ in this job?”

Clint’s quiet for a long time, looking at the floor. “I told you,” he starts, and Laura feels her temper rise.

“No, you _didn’t_ tell me. I know that you work for some secret organization. I know that you shoot a bow and arrow. I know that sometimes you get hurt and I know that you travel. But I don’t even know what you do!” She pauses, her voice becoming quiet. “Do you...do you kill people?”

Clint sits down next to her and hands her a mug. “Laura, I haven’t even been properly out in the field yet.”

Laura doesn’t miss the fact that he hasn’t quite answered the question. “ _Will_ you kill people?”

Clint takes a long sip of coffee in response, and Laura feels her stomach churn nauseatingly. “Oh my god,” she mutters. “Clint, what...what the fuck did you sign up for? What the _hell_?”

Clint puts down his mug and reaches forward, holding up his hands, offering a declaration of peace. “Laura, listen.”

“No, _you_ listen,” she spits out angrily, putting her own mug on the floor. “Be honest with me! I asked you to be honest with me when you started this, when you told me you had a partner, and you promised that you would be!”

“I was!” Clint pushes back, but he looks chagrined. Laura’s eyes burn.

“No, you weren’t! And you’re still not! I have no idea how dangerous your job really is. I don’t know where you are half the time or what you’re doing. I’m sick, our son is sick, you’re getting hurt...I can’t do this, Clint.” Exhaustion and frustration wash over her in overlapping waves, and Clint takes her in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry I worry you.”

Laura lets herself cling to him in a way she knows she hasn’t been able to do in a long time, and he holds her until she feels calm enough to speak again, while he alternates between kissing her gently and rubbing her arm.

“What do you want to know?” Clint asks quietly. “About Natasha?”

Laura shakes her head. “You told me everything already,” she says morosely. “Twenty-one. Russia. Your partner.”

Clint nods slowly. “Then what else do you need to know?”

“I…” Laura trails off, feeling the fire bleed out of her as quickly as it had flared up, lulled by the gentleness of his touch that she’s always anchored herself to. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I need to feel like when you come home, I’m not blindsided by what you’re doing or who you’re seeing. I…” She stops and takes a breath. “I can be okay with the fact that you’re taking a dangerous job, but I don’t like not knowing anything about it. Or about her.”

Clint kisses her scalp. “If I said I trusted her, would you trust that?”

Laura tries to think about how to answer, because she realizes she doesn’t know. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He takes her hand, rubbing taped fingers over her palm. “The things I’m doing are dangerous,” he says finally. “And yes, I’m going to do things that might mean killing people. But Laura -- _Laura_.” He takes her by the shoulders, putting a hand on her lips, forcing them closed as she tries to speak again. “Laura, _look_ at me. Believe me when I say that I’m not going to be doing anything that I shouldn’t.”

Laura swallows hard. “How...how often will you kill people?”

Clint closes his eyes. “I don’t know, Laur. Maybe hardly ever. It’s not like I want to. My job, it’s basically…”

“An assassin?”

Clint opens his eyes, meeting her gaze head on. “An agent, specifically.”

Laura furrows her brow. “What kind of agent uses a bow and arrow?”

“The ones that come out of this company, apparently.” Clint tightens his arm around her. “But that’s why I’m working with Natasha. We’re going to go out together and she’ll be able to keep a watch on me. Most agents at SHIELD have partners. It’s how people keep each other safe.”

“Will she?” Laura asks tentatively. “Keep you safe?” She thinks of the bruises and the black eyes; Clint had told her it was just training and Laura can’t help but wonder what someone might be like in the field if they were that brutal without even trying properly. She’d never thought about or asked what Clint had been like when he had been in the military, but she knew enough of her dad’s life to know that he wasn’t going around beating people up or shooting off their heads for no reason.

“She will,” Clint promises. “I really believe she will.”

It’s not the answer Laura wants to hear, but she finds herself accepting it, because she doesn’t know how else she’s supposed to deal with things coming out of this strange, secretive life she’s allowed herself to be integrated into.

 

***

 

The beginning months of fall are marked by heat waves and by Cooper becoming quite familiar with tantrums and the word “no,” which, given everything that they’ve experienced so far, Laura supposes could be worse.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Clint says as he lifts a screaming Cooper out of the grocery cart, shooting apologetic looks to the glaring shoppers who are wandering through the parking lot. “This is torture. I know he’s my son, but I’m seriously considering pretending he doesn’t exist right now.”

“I am not kidding,” Laura says methodically, opening the car door as Cooper continues to yell. She raises her voice over the noise. “I’ve dealt with teething and sleepless nights, so by all accounts, a tantrum -- however many he has in one day -- is an annoyance that's manageable.”

Clint sighs loudly as he fastens Cooper in his car seat, using his thumb to wipe thick tears from his son’s cheeks. “Hey, kiddo. Come on, it’s alright.”

“See! See!”

“I know you think we’re not paying attention to you,” Clint says soothingly, continuing to wipe water from his face. “But we can’t play. We’ll play when we get home.”

“Wanna play _now_ ,” Cooper says defiantly, swinging his legs harshly against the car seat, but he’s sniffling more than he’s crying and Clint sighs again, wiping his face one last time as Laura finishes putting the rest of the groceries in the car.

“You wanna drive?” Laura asks as she hands over the keys. The minivan is less than three months old and while Laura had acclimated to it right away -- a perk of driving her dad’s truck so often and being used to operating large, bulky vehicles -- it’s taken Clint a little longer to get used to navigating the bigger car. Laura hadn’t wasted time teasing him about it, especially now that she knew how many technologically advanced objects he worked with at SHIELD, some of which had names she couldn’t even pronounce. They pull out of the parking lot, and Clint fiddles with the radio.

“One day I’ll figure out how the hell he took to Billy Joel, of all the things,” Clint says, glancing in the rearview mirror as Cooper quiets to sounds of _Uptown Girl_. Laura smiles.

“Blame it on his dad who decided to play the entire album and dance around the house with him when he couldn’t sleep,” she responds. Clint makes a face.

“Hey, it worked.”

“Clearly.” Laura pauses, staring out the window. “I’ve been thinking,” she starts slowly, and Clint raises an eyebrow.

“About how good I’d look on the beach right now?”

Laura rolls her eyes, but she can’t help herself as she smiles. “No, Clint. About going back to school.”

Clint jerks a little bit in surprise, glancing over at her. “Going back to school? Like...getting another degree?”

Laura nods, playing with her hands. “I’ve been talking to a few people about it,” she says a little hesitantly. “Just to get some feedback before I brought it up seriously. My mom, some of the others TAs I work with at Iowa State…they think it would be good for me.” She twists a lock of hair around her fingers. “I’m already working there, anyway. And it would allow me to get a better job, either at the school or somewhere else in the future. There’s the opportunity to make more money, too, with a Master’s degree.”

Clint moves his jaw and back and forth. “You think you can manage going back to school?”

Laura closes her eyes, trying to work past the annoyance of Clint’s question, knowing that it comes from a place rooted in concern for her lifestyle rather than concern for her capability.

“It won’t be easy,” she admits. “But people do it. And the classes will be part time, and I can do work at home, which is already the case. And my parents can be around to watch Cooper, when I need them to. It would only be a year, at most, if I get the program that I want.”

“And money?”

Laura sighs. “If I go through the school, the classes will all be paid for, thanks to my TA job.”

Clint keeps his gaze steady, watching the road, and the only sounds for a long time are the radio and the rush of cars speeding by every so often, and Cooper’s random babbling. “You know I’m not going to tell you no,” he says finally. “I want you to be happy. I want you to live your life. But I also know you wouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t want my opinion.”

Laura shakes her head. “I _want_ to do it. It’s my life and it shouldn’t stop because you’re doing what you want to do and because we have a child. But what if it’s too much?”

“Too much.” Clint sounds surprised. “My wife, the most capable person I’ve ever known, is telling me that she thinks she can’t handle going back to school and raising a family because it’s _too much_?”

Laura feels her cheeks burn. “It’s a legitimate concern,” she says quietly. “I don’t...I could over-extend myself.”

“You could,” Clint agrees. “But you’d also have more support than most people, especially with your family right here, and all your friends from school still around. Why not go for it?”

Laura glances at him. “You’re not talking me out of it?”

Clint laughs. “Why would I do that?”

“Because…” Laura shrugs. “I don’t know. Because it means putting double the amount of stress on our lives, and on my life. Because we can technically get by on your job and be stable and not worry about our financials.”

“But that’s not you,” Clint says and Laura does a double take at his response.

“What?”

Clint snorts. “Come on, Laura, be realistic. That’s _never_ been you. You’re too well-read, you love learning too much. You’re too dedicated to pushing yourself. You’d never sit back and let me do all the work, especially if the work is something you’re passionate about.” He pauses. “Tell me that you’re okay with the fact that I’ll be the sole breadwinner for us, for the rest of our lives.”

Laura finds herself smiling against her will. “I’m not,” she admits, knowing Clint’s right. “I don’t want you to have to provide for us while I sit around and cook all day.”

“Exactly. You know I’m right.”

Laura groans. “ _Fine_. You’re right. Is that what you want to hear, Mr. Barton?”

“Man, I love it when you’re angry with me,” Clint says with a smirk, turning his eyes back to the road. Laura playfully slaps him on the knee and turns the radio up a little higher, staring out the window, her eyes becoming heavy thanks to the lull of the car and the blinding sun that cuts through the windows. She’s rudely jerked awake by the car swerving dangerously before it pulls itself to a stop on the side of the road, and Cooper's cries from the backseat jar Laura even more as she snaps her head around.

“Clint!”

He’s white knuckling the wheel, his normally steady arms shaking, his eyes wide with what Laura recognizes as a frightened, jarring look.

“I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Laura says, vibrating with both anger and fear. “Get out of the car. _Now_.”

Clint looks like he wants to protest, but he slides out of the driver’s seat as Laura slams her own door shut. After they switch places, she pushes the key into the ignition.

“Natasha lets me drive all the time,” he grumbles under his breath, and Laura internally screams.

“I’m not Natasha,” she says sharply, trying to keep her voice as low as possible so as not to provoke Cooper, who has started to quiet down again. “I’m your _wife_. I’m Laura. And I’m not letting you drive so that you can kill both of us when you fall asleep at the wheel, just because you need to prove yourself.”

“What?” Clint’s tone is thick with confusion and Laura closes her eyes briefly, enough so that she knows she won’t compromise herself on the road.

“Clint.” She can’t exactly make the words _shut up_ come out of her mouth but she knows they’re implied, because Clint falls silent and Laura doesn’t bother to try to talk again until they’ve reached the house.

“You’re angry,” Clint says slowly as they get out of the car. Laura reaches into the backseat, undoing the buckle on the car seat and taking Cooper out.

“Yes, I’m angry,” she agrees harshly. “I’m not Natasha.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes, you did!” Laura whirls around. “Clint, I have no problem with your partner but when you’re here, you’re not SHIELD. You’re Cooper’s dad. You’re my husband. You’re the military guy who used to be a bartender who married the chemistry major from Iowa State, who lives in a house on a farm and sings to his child at night. You’re not a spy agent who shoots bows and arrows, you don’t lie when you need a break, and you don’t fix arguments by getting black eyes.”

“Laura --”

She cuts him off by turning back around, and doesn’t bother to wait for him to follow. It doesn’t quite surprise her when she hears the cough of the engine echoing in the otherwise still air, a response that's louder than she knows he could probably yell.

 _Let him leave, then_ , she finds herself thinking angrily, even though she feels sad at the same time because she’d never truly wish that upon herself. It’s not until she gets closer to the house that she realizes someone else is sitting on her porch, rocking back and forth in the swing.

“Laura?”

“Hannah?” Laura tries to push the fight out of her mind, a surprisingly easy feat considering her friend’s random appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to return your cake tin and mixing bowl, but I figured I’d try to make a quick visit,” Hannah says, gesturing to the bag sitting at her feet. Her brow immediately creases the more she looks at Laura’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s -- nothing,” Laura says hesitantly, sitting down next to her. Hannah smiles sympathetically, shoving a piece of dyed blonde hair away from her face.

“Marriage trouble?”

Laura laughs quietly. “Something like that,” she muses as Cooper starts babbling incoherently. She kisses him on the head, stroking his hair, wishing she had more to say to her friend.

“Clint must do some important work, being away so often.”

Laura smiles faintly. “You could say that,” she responds. “His job requires a lot of travel and a lot of training that can’t be done here.”

“Part-time husbands, right?” Hannah puts a hand on her shoulder and Laura forces out a smile.

_Hannah, you have no idea._

“I’m always amazed that you and Clint have the relationship that you do, given how often he’s away,” Hannah continues. “It would probably drive me crazy.”

“It does drive me crazy,” Laura says wryly. “For many reasons. But I love him, and I wanted to give him the opportunity to take this job when he was offered it. It’s not his fault he can’t talk about things sometimes, and I know that. But I do get frustrated.”

Hannah nods. “The first time Dave took his new job, and he worked too much to really be home, it was hard. It was right after we moved here, and it was before we adopted Ava, and I didn’t know anyone. I spent a lot of days at home hating the world and watching home cooking shows, and wondering if I should have eloped with the boyfriend I left back in California.”

“If I didn’t have Cooper, I might really go insane,” Laura says, hugging her son more tightly. “I know it won’t be like this forever -- him being away so often. It’ll get better. But --”

“But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with,” Hannah assesses wisely, pushing horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. Laura smiles.

“I can make you tea, if you want to come inside.”

Hannah smiles back as she gets up and Laura puts Cooper his high chair, busying him with plastic spoons and a handful of Cheerios while she heats up a kettle of water.

“Did you decide about going back to school?”

Laura nods, the pit in her stomach growing larger as she remembers the part of the conversation that had actually been good, before their fight had happened.

“I did. And I think I’m going to do it. Clint agreed that it was a good decision.”

“He’s a good one,” Hannah says as Laura hands her a purple mug with a bullseye on it. “Supporting you like that when he could just say that he’ll take in all the money? Not expecting you to be a housewife, like so many other men do?” She pauses to sip her tea, letting her gaze move around the house before it settles back on her friend. “You’re very lucky, Laura. I hope you realize that.”

Laura’s breath catches in her throat and she busies herself by pouring her own tea. “I know,” she says quietly, because she does, even when Clint pisses her off to no end and makes stupid decisions that cost her both her sanity and sometimes, her trust. But she’s well aware that he’s more dedicated to her than anyone else in the world, and that he cares about her more than anyone else in the world, save for maybe her parents, who were practically required to love her unconditionally.

“Oh, I forgot to show you,” Hannah says, removing a stack of photographs from her purse while conveniently changing the subject at the same time. “I have some pictures from Ava’s latest visit to my mother’s farm. She adored the open space.”

Laura pulls up a chair and eagerly joins her friend in looking through photos of her dog running around a large green field, the tension and anger easing the more she laughs at stories of how Ava would get scared by a squirrel, or run around and chase her own tail for no reason. By the time her friend has left to go home, she’s feeling a little lighter, Cooper’s more than ready to go down for a nap, and the sun is dipping dangerously close to the trees. Laura puts Cooper to sleep and takes the baby monitor outside, curling up on the swing, watching the sky darken with pastel oranges and blues as a line of birds shoot across the sky, their V formation sharp and purposeful. Evening encroaches on the farm along with the quiet hooting of a barn owl, which is interrupted by the sound of an engine slowing and stopping at the end of the dirt driveway.

“Thought you might want coffee,” Clint says as he approaches, holding out an oversized cup. “And an apology.” His eyes are red, though Laura can’t tell if it’s because he’s actually been crying or if it’s because he’s still too tired. She takes the drink slowly from his hand, recognizing it as one of the more expensive concoctions from her favorite cafe, a drink that she rarely allows herself to get because of both the price and the sugar content.

“Can I sit down?”

Laura nods, uncurling her legs and making room for him. He drops down next to her warily, letting the breath out of his body in a large whoosh of air that disappears with the whistle of the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, when she still doesn’t speak. “You’re right. I messed up today, in a lot of ways.”

 _It’s not just today_ , Laura wants to respond, but she knows that’s not fair. It wasn’t fair to yell at Clint about the fact he was trying to marry a completely different life into the one he had already made for himself, however bad a job he was doing.

“I need to know that when you’re here, you’re my husband.”

“I know,” Clint says quietly. Laura takes a long drink of coffee, feeling herself soften as the caffeine slides down her throat and coats her insides with sudden heat.

“He told me, you know,” Laura says when she speaks again. “Nick Fury. He sat here with me when he came to visit, and he told me about your nickname. The code name you gave yourself at SHIELD.”

“Hawkeye,” Clint says, leaning forward and looking over with a hesitant smile. Laura finds herself smiling back.

“I should’ve asked my roommate to let me keep the sweatshirt.” She looks down at her cup. “Sentimental value and all.”

“If I remember correctly, I believe it mysteriously disappeared before graduation,” Clint says with a wink, and Laura leans her head back against the swing, listening to the cicadas sing somewhere in the distance.

“He said he didn't know why you would choose something like that when you didn't care for sports. I didn't tell him about the night we met."

"Neither did I," Clint says. “But it was never meant to be a homage or anything like that. It was just my way of keeping you with me. When I wasn’t here.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It was a way to remind myself that even though I’m there now, that’s not where I began. I’m only half of what I am because of you, Laura. And I never want to lose sight of my life here. You...Cooper...whatever I do at work, whatever I do with Natasha, I want it all to end here. I _always_ want it to end here.”

Laura looks out over the lawn, over the crushed velvet sky. “What if it’s not safe one day to end it all here?”

Clint snorts. “What, like some killer alien is going to come and put a hit on my family?”

Laura shrugs listlessly, finding she can’t even laugh at the ridiculous comment, and thinks of all their fights and arguments over the past few months. “You said yourself that this job is dangerous,” she says softly. “And I know that now, more than ever. Even if it’s just you getting beat up at work. Who knows what will happen down the line.”

Clint puts an arm around her shoulder, pressing his face against her hair. “I will always put you first, Laura. You, this family...I’ll never forget where I came from. Even if I _do_ fight aliens one day.”

Laura laughs a little, sniffling quietly as she takes another drink. There’s a calm spreading over the farm that blankets her, that makes her feel both vulnerable and cozy at the same time.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she says softly. “In the car.”

Clint strokes her hair. “I’m sorry I left and took a long time to come back.”

When she kisses him, it’s _I’m sorry_ , it’s _I love you_ , and it’s _you’re always home here_ all rolled into one.

 

***

 

The one thing Laura can say for SHIELD is that at least they care about their employees enough to understand what the holidays mean.

Clint comes home for almost a full month at the beginning of December, and Laura thinks she might lose it when he walks in the door and doesn’t put down his bags, instead going straight upstairs to unpack because he won’t need to worry about picking up and leaving again. The uninterrupted break allows Clint to do what Laura thinks he’s had a hard time doing while being home for only a short amount of time: be a dad.

He takes Cooper into town and to playgroups, interacts easily with the other fathers who spend their days at home or working on the farm, doesn’t flinch when the woman who runs the ice cream shop gives him a concerned look and asks why she always sees Laura alone with her child. He accompanies Laura to weekly dinners at her parents’ house, his knowledge and years of military work allowing him to lie easily about his job when Bob asks him questions about what he’s doing when he’s not home so often, though Laura knows it probably makes him feel guilty to do so. He goes over to Hannah’s house and sits on the front lawn, he drinks a beer with Dave after fixing their stove, until Laura comes to rescue him from what she jokingly refers to as “male bonding.”

Laura comes home from work and finds him working on the house with Cooper sitting next to him, or to a note on the kitchen counter that says he’s taken Cooper on a walk or to the farm next door. He barely mentions his work, though Laura doesn’t miss how he disappears outside on his cell phone, having long conversations with a mysterious someone that Laura supposes is probably Natasha. She lets him have the moments and doesn’t ask about it when he walks back inside, because she knows it’s not her place -- and because at some point, over the past few months, things have evened out.

Clint talks candidly about some of the things he does in training with Natasha, and sometimes sheepishly shows up in their bedroom asking her things like what you might get a girl who you’re _kind of_ friends with as a birthday gift, without scaring them away. Laura gets used to the new and strange marks on his body, the way his chest and arms have broadened at an almost alarming rate thanks to rigorous training, and one day while Laura’s parents are babysitting Cooper at their house, he walks into the bedroom and puts his hands on his hips, smiling mischievously.

“I know that smile,” Laura says warily, putting down her book. “What did you do?”

Clint pouts in mock hurt. “Absolutely nothing. I have a surprise for you.”

Laura raises an eyebrow but follows Clint out of the bedroom, becoming even more confused when he motions for her to grab her coat from the closet, and when she notices he’s carrying a long black case in one hand.

“It’s outside,” he explains, and when she gives him another look, he sighs. “I swear there’s not a car or an elephant or some big strange thing sitting in the driveway, okay?”

Laura smiles as Clint leads her across the lawn and into the barn. She ducks inside the door that Clint holds open, instantly surrounded by musty air and a damp chill characteristic of the large building, a combination of the weather and the dusty equipment that’s piled up. She presses herself against the growing wall of license plates that Clint has started to collect from his work, souvenirs of undercover travels that he figured might make a neat collection for Cooper one day, and watches in growing interest as Clint walks to the other end of the barn.

“What’s this?” She crosses her arms as he pulls out an old target stand from behind a large wheelbarrow that’s been unused for at least two years, thanks to a broken handle. Clint opens the large case he’s been carrying.

“This is me, Laur. It’s way past time for you to see what I do when I’m in the field.”

Laura blinks as Clint removes a small folded object that he deftly shakes out, allowing it to expand into a large bow that’s almost as big as he is. She perches on the collection of wood that Clint’s been saving for the fireplace, watching as he strings an arrow.

She doesn’t know what she expects, she realizes -- she’s seen people do archery before, she _herself_ had done archery before, when she had forced her parents to send her to a summer camp for a year that was more rough and tumble than songs and games. But Laura finds her breath catching in her throat as Clint shoots, the curve of his back arching through his coat, his strong arms steady and his stance rigid and perfect. When he releases the arrow, hitting the exact center of the bullseye, Laura feels a rush of emotion bubbling up, and she realizes with a start that she’s falling in love with Clint all over again.

“Pretty good, right?” He turns with a smug grin, gesturing. “You wanna try?”

Laura startles. “Me?”

“Course.” Clint nods towards her. “I know you’ve got some skills hidden in that housewife persona of yours.”

Laura rolls her eyes and kicks her feet out, getting up and standing next to him as he hands over his bow. She’s taken aback at its weight, realizing how effortless Clint had made even lifting it look, and suddenly gets why he’s been doing so much training.

“You good?”

Laura gives him a look as she strings another arrow. “I’ve spent almost two years picking up a kid that doesn’t stop eating. I think I can handle this.”

Clint chokes out a laugh and then moves behind her, putting his hands on her waist. Laura fights the urge to flinch, and tries to take her mind off of the feeling that normally accompanies Clint putting his hands on her body in such a gentle, intimate way.

“Try to align your stance with the target,” he says quietly. “And even if it looks like it’s not gonna hit, take it anyway.” He pauses, moving his hands up her side as Laura shivers. “You miss every shot you don’t take.”

“Did SHIELD teach you that?” Laura mutters as she releases the arrow. It flies forward and hits a little outside the bullseye, and when she turns around, Clint’s smiling.

“No. You did.”

Laura looks down as Clint cards a hand through her hair, before using his other hand to tip her face up so he can kiss her. The musty air of the barn swirls around them but Laura doesn’t feel quite as chilled as she did before.

“Thank you,” she says as their lips meet, her fingers still clutching the hard handle of the bow, and when he looks at her, she knows he’s aware that she’s thanking him for more than just this moment.

A few days later, Laura blinks herself awake slowly, surprised to find that she’s woken easily, and even more surprised to find that it’s because she’s feeling more than a little well rested. When she turns her head to squint at the bedside clock, she realizes that’s because it’s well past her five, six or seven in the morning wake-up call that’s become normal around the farm, especially when Clint’s not around.

But Clint _is_ around, she remembers, because sometimes it’s easy to forget when she wakes up to an empty bed, which is more often than not. She sits up and rubs her eyes, letting herself come awake slowly as her ears pick up on soft strains of music trickling through the closed door.

 _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas._ She instantly recognizes the low baritone of Bing Crosby filtering through the old radio, which gets progressively louder as she walks downstairs.

“What time is it?” She glances around the suspiciously clean kitchen, her eyes traveling to the living room where their tree sits neatly in front of the window, adorned with a smattering of colored lights. “More importantly, where is my son who doesn’t know the meaning of being quiet?”

“He’s dressed, fed, and he’s already needed one diaper change,” Clint says proudly, gesturing towards the couch where Cooper is stretched out, asleep in his booties, stockings and a striped red shirt. “My Christmas gift to you. And maybe to myself as well.”

Laura glances over and then smirks at her husband. “If you made coffee, I might forgive you for everything I yelled about this year,” she says right before Clint holds out his hand, offering out a large, red mug.

“I haven’t known you forever for nothing,” he says, and Laura smiles again, sipping from the warm ceramic, letting the caffeine rush into her bloodstream and revive her senses.

“The tree looks nice. It held up.” She had been initially worried when Clint said he wanted to bypass the many stands in town and try to bring in a real tree from the woods -- and not only because she was aware that real branches and pines were more susceptible to fire hazards. But Clint had found a tree that was smaller than usual, and Laura had to admit that watching him decorate it with Cooper sitting on the ground and offering up small ornaments while he sang off-tune songs was only a little better than watching him actually _chop_ down the tree, even though he had been covered by a huge coat.

“Looks like we got snow, too,” Clint says, nodding to the window where a light dust is falling, like sprinkles of fairy magic. “Maybe it’ll be another heavy winter.”

“Maybe,” Laura agrees, snuggling against him and letting the soft sounds of the radio penetrate her ears. “We went through a lot this year.”

“Yeah,” Clint says slowly. “We did.” He rubs her arm, his thumb drawing circles against her shoulder. “We’re still standing though, right?”

They are, and Laura knows that fact is something that she can’t take for granted. Because Clint could be frustrating, and he could make her angry, and he could make terrible decisions. But he was _Clint_. He was her husband, and despite all of that, at the end of the day, he was coming home to her and telling her that he loved her. He was making her dinner and hugging his son and fixing the house and kissing her in bed and apologizing for ever attempting to put her second.

He wasn't perfect, but he was hers.

“We’re still standing,” Laura repeats quietly. She closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of caffeine and the faint aroma of fresh pine from the tree in the living room; she concentrates on the wind singing outside the window, a harsh tune that’s softened by the thick panes. She concentrates on Cooper’s tiny snores as her son sleeps soundly, on the carols playing on the radio, on everything unique about the life and foundation they’ve built -- _are_ building -- for themselves in this moment. Clint jumps suddenly, and his unexpected move causes Laura to almost spill her coffee.

“Work?” Laura asks when she sees Clint pull out his phone.

“Not really,” he says as he hits the screen, glancing down before shoving it back in his pocket. Laura catches the missed call from _N.R._ and she doesn’t have to wonder who the initials stand for.

“Go,” she says gently, nodding towards the stairs, and when Clint looks confused, she motions to his phone. “Natasha. Give her a call before we really get the day started. Besides, she’s alone this year, right?”

Clint bites his lip and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s staying at SHIELD. I think she said something about going to the gym and eating one of their holiday dinners.” He looks up a little hesitantly and then around the room. “I was thinking that maybe if everything goes okay with us, next year we can invite her here. You know, just...just so she has somewhere to go.”

Laura thinks if Clint had asked her that question even a few months ago, she would have fought him on it, or at least been more suspicious. Instead, she finds herself smiling, and leans over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“I think that would be nice.”


	16. 2008: Part II

One morning after breakfast, while Clint is sipping coffee and catching up with Natasha over Skype, Laura walks into the kitchen and parks herself in front of both Clint and the kitchen table, effectively blocking his view of the screen.

“Hey!” Clint protests as all five feet and three inches of his wife replaces Natasha’s red curls.

“Clint.” She pauses, turning around. “Sorry. Hi, Nat.”

“Don’t mind me,” Natasha says a bit smugly as Laura turns back to her husband. “I’ve got a nice view.”

“I don’t,” Clint complains and Laura raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

Laura rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Clint, we have a problem. It’s Cooper.”

Clint immediately pushes back in his chair, all mindful joking of the current situation forgotten. “Coop? Is he --”

“No,” Laura cuts him off quickly. “No, he’s not sick. He’s not hurt, so far as I can tell. He’s fine.”

“Oh.” Clint slumps back into the chair, looking up at his wife. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“The _problem_ is that he’s refusing to go to soccer practice,” Laura replies in exasperation. Clint rubs a hand over his forehead.

“Maybe we’re just shoving him into too many sports,” he says, letting his hand fall onto his knee. “Soccer, baseball...I mean, give the kid a break.”

“Clint. He won’t even get dressed. And when I tried to ask him what was wrong, he just yelled at me and told me to go away.” She shakes her head. “I was hoping maybe you’d have better luck.”

“Me?” Clint glances around Laura, where he can see Natasha still sitting patiently on the bed in his apartment. “ _Now_?” When Laura stares him down with a look that makes Clint acutely terrified, he grunts.

“Fine, fine.” He leans towards the computer as Laura steps away. “Gotta go,” he says apologetically and Natasha nods.

“I know. I heard.”

Clint smiles sadly. “I’ll call you later? We’ll finish our conversation.”

“You mean we’ll _start_ it,” Natasha says smartly. “Love you both.”

“Love you too,” he mutters, hitting a button to end the call, stretching as he gets up from the chair.

“ _Clint_.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he mumbles, heading up the stairs as Laura gives him another sharp look. Cooper’s door is cracked open slightly, and he’s sitting on the bed dressed in the clothes he’s been wearing for most of the day. His uniform is lying in the middle of the floor in a rumpled heap.

“Hey,” Clint says carefully, noting the way his son is staring at the wall and nothing else. “You got a game today, right?”

“I guess,” Cooper says slowly, sounding about as enthused as Clint does when Natasha asks him to fill out paperwork. Clint pushes on anyway.

“Excited, right? It’s gonna be the first game since your leg healed. Mom and I can’t wait to see you play. We’re going to take video for Natasha so she doesn’t miss it.”

“Yeah,” Cooper says sullenly. “Whatever.”

Clint feels his brow crease in confusion. “Hey, what’s up, kiddo?” He crosses the room and kneels down, trying to angle his way into his son’s line of vision. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay!” Cooper pushes back defiantly, crossing his arms. “I don’t wanna go to the game and I don’t wanna go to soccer. I wanna quit.”

Clint’s eyebrows lift higher than he thinks is possible. “What?”

“I wanna quit!” His voice is steady, but Clint instantly notices that he’s trying not to cry. He nods slowly, working through his son’s words in his mind.

“We can talk about this later,” he decides. “You wanna go get ice cream? Before you have to leave for the game?”

Cooper looks up, his expression shifting from fear to surprise. “Mommy doesn’t let me have ice cream in the afternoon.”

“Mommy isn’t making the rules right now,” Clint answers. “Daddy is.” He offers out his hand and Cooper takes it reluctantly before they walk down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Laura asks from the kitchen, looking up from the bread she’s starting to make as Clint grabs his car keys from the table and kisses her on the cheek.

“A little father-son bonding. I swear, he’ll be back in time for practice.”

Laura sighs but doesn’t say anything, going back to folding lumps of dough, and Clint ushers Cooper out the door. After getting him settled in the car, Clint drives them the short distance down the road to the ice cream shop at the edge of town. Cooper looks around suspiciously while they park, as if he hadn’t realized his dad was serious about his words.

“I never joke about ice cream,” Clint says solemnly as they get out of the car. “Come on, Coop.” He leads his son into the building, smiling widely at the woman behind the counter, a teen that looks only a little younger than Laura.

“One chocolate, one moose tracks. Cups, please.”

Cooper looks on eagerly as Clint passes the money over, and once the cups have been placed on the counter, Clint takes both of them in his hand and walks back outside. It’s just barely early spring, a little chilly but warm enough not to feel uncomfortably cold, and he motions for his son to sit down at the small table in the courtyard.

“Come on. Dig in,” Clint says as they relax, and Cooper gives Clint a huge smile as he starts eating. Clint waits until a healthy amount of ice cream has been consumed before he speaks again.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Cooper shakes his head. “Nuttin,” he replies through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Nothing, huh?” Clint side-eyes him. “You hate soccer that much that you want to quit? We can talk about doing some other sports, you know. Or if you want, you can just focus on Little League.” When Cooper doesn’t respond, Clint reaches over and strokes his hair.

“Come on. I won’t be mad at anything you tell me. I promise. What’s the matter?”

Cooper concentrates on his ice cream, digging his spoon deeper into the cup. “Other kids think I’m gonna be bad,” he says slowly and Clint’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Did they tell you that?”

Cooper shakes his head. “No. But they’re gonna make fun of me. I know it.”

Clint takes a deep breath, the pieces suddenly slotting into place as he watches Cooper swing his legs back and forth against the chair. “This is your first big game, right? Since you broke your leg? And you haven’t played in a long time with other people.”

Cooper looks down in silent confirmation and Clint tries to mend the heart that’s being ripped in two. “Coop...hey, Coop.” He kisses his son on top of his messy hair. “Don’t ever let _anyone_ make you think you’re not good enough. We’ve all seen you play. You’re _great_ at soccer. You play with grandpa all the time.”

“But I haven’t played in forever,” Cooper says, his voice shaking. “What if I’m really, really bad?”

“Well.” Clint swallows down his emotions, because Cooper’s words are hitting a little too close to home. “That’s the thing, Coop. No matter what you do in life, that fear will always be there. It’s just a part of who we are. We’re always going to be scared that we’re not good enough when we have to do something big.” He takes a bite of his own ice cream, which he realizes he’s been neglecting. “You have to ignore the fear and push through it, and believe in yourself. That goes for anything -- sports, school. Even if you have a fight with a friend.”

Cooper nods, but Clint can tell that he’s not really taking in his words. He bumps his shoulder gently to get his attention.

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Like the ones we read at night?” Cooper asks as chocolate dribbles down his chin, staining his shirt. Clint grabs for a napkin and helps wipe his mouth.

“Kind of. It’s about dad and work. Because once upon a time, dad thought he was going to be really bad at work since he’d never done his job before. And a lot of people had been doing the job for a lot longer than he had.” Clint finds his son’s eyes and holds his gaze. “I’m sticking to my job because I love it, and because I have people like you and Natasha and your mom who believe in me. And you know that you have us and Natasha and your friends, and grandma and grandpa, who make you feel good about things. That’s a lot of people that care about you and love you.”

Cooper makes a face. “Will you and mom be mad if I don’t play?”

“Yes,” Clint says automatically. “We will. If you decide you don’t like soccer anymore and that you want to quit, well, that’s something we can talk about. But we made a commitment, Coop. And we don’t just give up those commitments because things get hard. Right?”

Cooper shakes his head. “No,” he says as Clint sits back. “Will you…” He breaks off, and when he looks at Clint again, his eyes are bright. “Will you still love me if I don’t play?”

“Cooper.” Clint puts his ice cream down and places two hands on his shoulders, turning his son towards him. “Of course we will. We’ll _always_ love you, even if you don’t play. But we don’t want you to _not_ play just because you’re scared of what other people will think. And we don’t want you to ever quit something because of that. Okay?”

Cooper runs a small tongue over his lips. “If I play, will you still video the game? For Nat?”

“You have to ask?” Clint smiles. “She wouldn’t miss a chance to see you in action,” he adds, ruffling Cooper’s hair. “Come on. Finish up so we can go home and get you changed. Mom’s waiting for us.”

Cooper shoves the last of his ice cream in his mouth and puts a small, sticky hand in Clint’s palm, and Clint squeezes it tightly before getting up.

 

***

 

When Clint gets the summon and arrives in Fury’s office, he’s surprised to find that his boss is nowhere to be found, with only Hill standing next to the desk, looking both intrusive and out of place at the same time.

“I didn’t do it,” he says automatically as he sits down, and Hill rolls her eyes.

“Calm down, Barton. This isn’t a reprimanding.” She pauses. “Yet.”

“Oh.” Clint lets out a breath, but leans forward cautiously. “What is it, then?”

Hill moves until she’s standing in front of him, and perches delicately on the edge of the desk. “A proposal. And a discussion. You’ve helped us with a lot of important missions since you joined SHIELD.”

“Uh huh.” Clint nods. “Glad to have been of service.”

“Indeed.” Hill’s voice takes on a perfunctory tone. “The world is only going to grow more dangerous, Barton. And as SHIELD, we have a responsibility to protect people. We’re in the process of putting together an initiative,” she adds off of Clint’s eyebrow raise. “Something big, and something that would give us an edge when it came to our enemies. Something that would help us protect our world.”

Clint snorts, unable to help himself. “Are you asking if I want to help you design some nuclear weapons?”

“Not weapons,” Hill says somewhat curtly. “And besides, that’s Stark’s expertise. I’m talking about something else.”

“And that something else is…”

“A group,” Hill finishes. “A team, really. A group of people who we would vet, who are extraordinary in their own ways, who would be responsible for taking care of these potential threats. Something we would curate here, at SHIELD, and put into the world at the right time. You might call it a fail safe.”

“Huh.” Clint rubs his eyes, suddenly feeling tired. “Sounds like a pretty complicated fail safe, though.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes when Hill doesn’t respond. “So _why_ exactly am I here, again?”

“Because we want to offer you the choice to be a part of this group,” Hill says, folding her arms. “Normally, I wouldn’t make you privy to things that are under wraps like this, but seeing as to how you have a family, I wanted to make sure you knew about the option.”

“So you’re saying that you wanted to make sure that _Strike Team Delta_ knew about the option,” Clint corrects and Hill sets her lips in a straight line.

“Barton, this isn’t a ‘where Romanoff goes, you go’ situation. _Despite_ your partnership. We don’t take for granted the fact that her skill set and training are useful, but --”

“But _what_?” Clint sits back, his brain unable to wrap itself around her words. “You can’t be serious. Natasha’s been my partner _and_ an essential part of this organization for almost four years. I trained her. I brought her in. How can you honestly look at what she’s done -- at what _we’ve_ done -- and say that she wouldn’t even be considered for this group you’re putting together? _Especially_ if you want me to be a part of it?”

Hill hesitates, and when she speaks again, her voice is cautious. “I won’t deny that she’s proven herself to be valuable at SHIELD. But there have also been incidents --”

“Yeah, incidents. Everyone has incidents,” Clint interrupts, trying not to lose his calm. “So she’s got a tough past. So she went after her old assassin friend once. Big deal. It’s not like she _actually_ killed her. And she’s spent time with my family both on and off the job...for fuck’s sake, she’s taken my kid to summer camp, Hill!”

“She also acted violently towards you for more than a few months after you brought her in, and she’s never worked with anyone that _isn’t_ you as a partner,” Hill reminds him as Clint bites his tongue on lashing out about the fact that Natasha worked _pretty well_ with his wife. “We have no idea how she’ll act if we put her a team environment, and the things we do know from her past don’t exactly comfort me.”

Clint opens his mouth and then closes it. “Do you hold everyone in this goddamn organization accountable for their history?” He gets up, unable to sit still anymore. “I mean, does anyone care that I was a high school dropout?”

Hill regards him coolly. “That’s not the issue. The issue is her loyalty.”

“And her loyalty means nothing to you?” Clint asks incredulously. “She’s done nothing but fight for this organization and the world for four years!”

Hill sighs. “It’s not just her loyalty I’m worried about, Barton. It’s _her_. This team that we’re putting together is going to be responsible for more than just a few innocent civilians in foreign countries. They’re going to be responsible for situations that involve the entire _world_.” The edges of her voice drop off slightly. “And while she does a good job when she’s out with you, I don’t trust that she’s ready to take on that kind of responsibility.”

“ _You_ don’t. What did Director Fury say about this?”

Hill’s lips thin more. “That’s not your concern, or your jurisdiction.”

“But it’s my jurisdiction to know about an initiative that might not even come to fruition for years,” Clint assesses suspiciously.

“Yes,” Hill responds, narrowing her gaze. “Because you have a wife and a child, and I’d like to give you the opportunity to think about signing your life away when it comes to this kind of responsibility. Natasha doesn’t have those things to worry about.”

Clint wants to scream about how wrong Hill is about everything, and _especially_ about how wrong she is about those last words in particular, but he knows he can’t admit to that part of his life right now, nor does he want to.

“Look --”

Hill holds up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “We’re done here. And I believe you have an assignment to prepare for.”

Clint snorts. “I’ve been to California before. It’s not exactly the catacombs of Rome.”

“ _Dismissed_ ,” Hill clarifies angrily, pointing towards the door and Clint sighs, rocking up from the chair. He immediately turns left, walking down the long hallway, barging into Coulson’s office without knocking.

“I’m not going to ask how you knew I was here,” Fury says calmly when he looks up. Clint stops in front of him.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at picking up patterns. It was here or your office, and you definitely were not in your office,” Clint says, glaring at his handler, who looks perturbed. Fury sighs and nods to Coulson.

“A moment please, agent.”

Coulson looks more than a little put out but he gets up without a word, exiting the room. Fury waits until the door has fully closed before he turns around and looks at Clint.

“I take it that Hill talked to you about what we want you to think about signing up for.”

Clint crosses his arms. “Yeah, well. Did you know that she wants me to sign up without Natasha? Because she doesn’t trust her?”

There’s a look that passes through Fury’s one eye that Clint thinks might be regret, though he can’t figure out why his boss of all people would harbor so much compassion.

“I did.”

“And you didn’t fight her on it?”

Fury sighs again, this time more loudly. “I did,” he repeats, motioning for Clint to sit down on the leather couch. Clint does, though he’s not sure why, considering he hates anyone that tells him what to do.

“I don’t agree with her about Romanoff not being trustworthy and loyal when it comes to protecting SHIELD,” Fury says in a low voice. “But aside from you, I’m also the only person in this organization who is going to look out for her in any way.”

“So, what.” Clint furrows his brow, trying to understand what Fury means. “You think you’re _protecting_ her by not giving her this opportunity?”

“She may not even _want_ this opportunity,” Fury reminds him. “Romanoff isn’t exactly someone who likes being a team player.”

“Unless she’s with me,” Clint says instantly. “You gotta override this and talk to Hill. You gotta convince her that Natasha should be asked to be a part of this team you’re putting together.”

“I do?” Fury looks surprised, and Clint nods.

“Yeah. You do. Because if you want me, you’re getting Strike Team Delta. I go with Natasha, or I don’t go at all. Even if the world ends.” He stares at Fury until his boss finally looks away.

“How old is your kid now, Barton?”

Clint finds himself taken aback by the question. “He, uh. He just turned five.”

Fury nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Would you push him into going on a trip with a friend, even if he told you that he wanted to stay home?”

“I --” Clint stops. “What the hell does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” says Fury, waving his hands around. “You think you have all the power in the world to push someone you care about. But it might be that the best thing you can do is give them a choice, rather than forcing them to do something they’re not comfortable with.”

Clint glares. “If you’re implying you know Natasha better than I do, I’m not buying it. _I’m_ the one who became close to her.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve been beat up, yelled at, even strangled,” Fury says, sounding nonplussed. “I’m not implying I’m closer to her than you are, Barton. We just have a different relationship.” He gets up, towering over Clint in a way that makes him feel suddenly small. “I’ll talk to Hill, and I’ll arrange a meeting with Romanoff. Would that be acceptable?”

Clint nods slowly, “Yes, sir. It would.”

“Good.” Fury eyes the door. “Now, don’t you have an assignment to prepare for?”

Clint knows a dismissal when he hears one and so he takes his leave, walking slowly back down the hall, trying not to dwell on Fury’s words.

 

***

 

California is hot, muggy, and causes Clint’s uniform to stick to his skin in a way that’s terribly uncomfortable. He can tell Natasha harbors the same annoyances, even if she’s not bemoaning them verbally the way he is.

“I can’t believe they sent us to fucking _Death Valley_ ,” he mutters as they leave the quinjet, walking into the dust and sun.

“Yeah, blame SHIELD,” Natasha says sarcastically. “Not the people who are trying to hide an encrypted piece of data that has whereabouts of dangerous prisoners who have been missing for years.” She rolls her shoulders in a move that looks painful, and lets out a small whine. “I miss Laura. Her lips feel really nice when I’m stressed out.”

“Well, she misses you too,” Clint says, only a little taken aback by her words. “We can go home after this. Get some cuddling time in.”

Natasha nods, walking a little slower as they close the gap between the open field and the warehouse they’ve been directed to, guns and bows carelessly banging against their bodies.

“Hill had a meeting with me before we left,” she says after a long pause, giving him a sideways glance. Clint continues to stare straight ahead.

“What kind of meeting?”

Natasha leans down to adjust her gun holster, pulling out her weapon. “She wanted to ask me about joining up with some team they’re planning to put together. Some fail safe kind of thing. Honestly, it seemed like it put her out to even approach me about the issue.”

“So what did you say?” Clint tries not to sound too eager, even as Natasha gives him another look. She reaches for the door of the warehouse and tugs it open, holding up a hand to silence him, taking the lead and then lowering her gun when no immediate threat presents itself.

“I told her I wasn’t sure, and that I needed to think about it,” Natasha replies. “I don’t know why she asked me in the first place. I like you, but I’m not exactly a known team player when it comes to SHIELD.”

Clint takes a breath, following Natasha inside and glancing up at the high-beamed ceilings. “She asked you because I was the one that told her to.”

Natasha stops walking, freezing in her tracks.

“What?”

“They called me in a few days ago and told me the same thing -- they were putting together a team, and they wanted me to be aware of the option, because of Laura and Cooper. I said I wasn’t joining anything without you, and I told Fury to override the decision so Hill would ask.”

They’ve walked about halfway across the room and even though Clint knows they should be on guard out of habit, because it does seem way too quiet given the importance of the information that’s supposedly hidden, he doesn’t admonish Natasha when she turns around and drops her arm to her side.

“ _Why_?”

Clint blinks, confused by her sudden anger. “Uh. Because we’re partners?”

“So that gives you the right to make decisions for me?” Natasha asks angrily, and Clint bristles with indignation.

“Look, _you_ were the one who yelled at me after Geneva, who said I wasn’t thinking about you because I was too caught up in my own life!”

“I didn’t ask you to make it up to me like this!” Natasha’s eyes harden. “What gives you the right to decide my life for me? Do you do that for Laura? For your kid?”

“Of course not!” Clint retorts, immediately realizing how he sounds and the answer only seems to make Natasha angrier.

“What if I don’t _want_ to do this?” She walks towards him with purpose and presses her finger hard against his chest with so much force that he can feel the pressure through the thickness of his uniform. “What if I don’t want to defend the world or work with people I don’t know? What if I just want us to be _us_?”

Clint swallows, holding himself rigidly against her assault. “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I do or not!” Natasha pushes him roughly and steps back again “But that’s not the point. The point is that we’re a fucking team, Clint! You’re in a marriage, you know what it means to make decisions together. We’re partners, and we do the same thing. You don’t try to push me into a life you _think_ I want.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doing?” Clint asks just as frustratedly. “I’m not --” He’s cut off at that exact moment by a loud explosion from outside, and then another one from inside, and he has barely a moment to acclimate himself to the sound before sudden gunfire rains down on both of them.

“For the record, we are not done with this conversation!” Natasha yells out as she aims her gun at the ceiling and ducks a shower of bullets.

“You’re making this really difficult!” Clint shouts back as he crouches behind a collection of conveniently stacked boxes, stringing an arrow with two fingers.

“ _I’m_ making this difficult?”

“Look, can we please talk about this later?” Clint shouts impatiently as he narrowly dodges a stray bullet that’s managed to find its way into his hiding place. He doesn’t hear if Natasha responds, because the explosive arrow that he’s managed to release finds its target in one of the beams on the side of the warehouse, sending everything into a shower of flames and buckling, falling debris. Clint ducks again, stringing another arrow and sending it blindly in the direction of the recent explosion, glancing up to find dust and fire settling in the space, and dozens of prone bodies littering the floor. There are two men still standing, though, both of whom are fighting with Natasha rather violently. She manages to palm the knife from her boot and get a kill in to one by stabbing the side of his neck, and kicks the other in the stomach as blood spurts in every direction, deftly grabbing her gun and firing a shot between his eyes. As both men go down, she collapses with them, and Clint immediately beelines towards her, dropping to his knees.

“I’m okay,” Natasha groans when he puts his hand on the side of her face, wiping blood from a cut on her forehead. “Nothing broken. I don’t think. Ankle’s a little sore, but I can walk on it. Just help me up.”

Clint does, glancing around, his eyes falling on the men she’s killed and then the others that he’s taken down. “Think that’s the last of them?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Natasha asks tiredly, making a face when she realizes her uniform is all but covered in their attackers’ blood. “But these guys aren’t anything special. I can tell from the way they’re fighting. They’re not connected to the people we’re after...they’re just hired help.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “That doesn't make me feel better.  _You_ were hired help, once.”

Natasha snorts. “I was better than this,” she says, nodding towards the man on the floor. “He couldn’t even figure out where to hit me so that I’d be properly incapacitated, which obviously worked in my favor. Anyway, just stick one of those arrows in the ceiling and blow the place so we can call it a day.”

“Not before we find the drive,” Clint reminds her with a small sigh. “That’s the whole reason we’re supposed to be here, remember?”

“So then go find the damn drive,” Natasha says, gesturing with one hand. “I’ll cover your six. I can walk okay.”

Clint gives her a look, and Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m shaken up, I’m not dead,” she adds and Clint can’t stop himself from leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the side of her dirty cheek, even though he knows she’s still mad at him. The face she makes, a combination of _don’t you dare touch me_ and _fuck you for trying_ , confirms it. He picks up his bow again and moves deeper into the building while Natasha falls behind.

“I can’t believe you went behind my back and made a decision about something like this without me.”

“We’re on this again?” Clint asks as they round a corner, weapons raised.

“We never left it,” Natasha retorts and Clint rolls his own eyes as they walk into another room.

“Well, I hate to break it to you Tasha, but now might not be the best time to start a therapy session about our feelings. _Fucking shit!_ ” He adds the expletives when he opens the door and is immediately met with a booted foot that catches him in the stomach. The attack knocks the wind out of him and he stumbles, unable to get his bearings or get a hold on his bow, and as if on cue Natasha flies into his vision, red hair popping across his eyes like a firework that’s just exploded into an otherwise dark sky.

He hears a groan and a yell as she battles with the man who had tried to keep Clint from entering the room, and as he lies on the floor trying to breathe, he attempts to use the moment to orient himself. It’s a small control room with at least a dozen computers, and he has no idea where the object he’s looking for might be hiding, if it’s even here at all.

 _Think, Barton. You have your skills for a reason. You see better from a distance._ He forces his mind to work, narrowing his eyes and sussing out each corner of the room and each console, trying to find something that might give him a clue. He has no idea how much time he has; Natasha could certainly keep anyone engaged as long as she could hold out, but Clint’s not about to let her fight to the point of exhaustion.

It’s Natasha that does it, though, spinning into his sight again as she fights her attacker, one leg wrapping around his neck. When she moves, his eyes catch a glimmer of light from an otherwise camouflaged object in an outdated computer tower just to the left of him.

Clint moves despite his still shaky vision and reaches out, grabbing for the drive just as something hard comes down on the back of his head. There’s a sharp crack indicative of a broken neck, and Natasha’s yelling his name, and he hears the body thump next to him before he sees it, rolling out of the way painfully as Natasha bends over, meeting his eyes.

“Got it,” he says weakly, waving the flash drive around, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the fact that he wants to throw up. “What were you saying about calling it a day?”

 

***

 

Natasha lets him off the hook only because they’ve both taken hits, but she doesn’t realize how angry she still is about the whole situation until they return home to Clint’s apartment. He locks the door after entering and then walks straight to the couch, practically faceplanting onto the cushion.

In any other case, Natasha thinks she would probably find the moment endearing -- she’d make fun of him and then she’d probably join him, however uncomfortable the position would be, because the couch was too small for both of their bodies. But she’s still too keyed up with frustration and annoyance, and instead of doing either of those things, she chooses to walk straight past him into the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the shower.

Natasha undresses slowly, cringing when she sees the state of her skin. She’d been right about her assessments -- nothing was broken or seriously injured -- but hidden underneath the thick leather of her suit are multiple black and blue marks as well as a large scratch along the back of her neck that she knows probably needs neosporin. The cuts she’s sustained seem even more harsh in the bathroom lighting and Natasha gives herself another once-over before she shrugs it all off and steps into the scalding spray, letting the steam from the hot water wash away blood and pain.

She hears the door open but doesn’t bother to pay attention until the shower curtain is pushed roughly aside. Natasha’s momentarily startled because not only is Clint naked, but because up close, he looks even worse than she does, a deep cut along his cheek and bruises along the curve of his freckled shoulders. She can’t see what she assumes is a large goose egg from where he’d been hit on the head, but she knows it has to be there, hidden somewhere underneath his messy hair.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“You normally ask if I want to join you in the shower,” Clint responds and Natasha rolls her eyes, pushing fingers through her damp hair.

“You normally don’t ignore me and then fall onto the couch like you’re dead.” She closes her eyes, expecting him to lash out or even finally make his entrance into her space. He doesn’t, though, and when she squints at him, eyes burning from a combination of heat and running make-up, he’s still standing at the edge of the tub.

“You’re letting out all the hot water,” she says crossly, feeling herself grow progressively angrier the longer he stands there, as if he’s giving her some strange silent treatment. He does move, then, carefully stepping into the shower before taking her by the shoulders and shoving her against the tiled wall.

He’s not rough with his actions, but Natasha still finds herself surprised by the intensity of his movements, her thoughts quieted almost instantly when he shoves his mouth against hers. His cock is rubbing up against her stomach and Natasha can feel it starting to harden, so she reaches down as much as she can and starts to massage it as he continues to kiss her.

“Fuck this,” he mutters into her mouth and Natasha wants to agree, because _fuck this,_ indeed. She brings her arms up and wraps them around his shoulders as he hoists her against the wall, steadying her with his strong body as her spine rubs against the slippery tile. Natasha kisses him more deeply he grinds into her, swallowing a mixture of blood and sweat and water, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. Clint reaches down after a moment, using his hands to guide his cock into her and she arches and then moans as he pushes himself inside. She knows that normally their foreplay is longer and more languid, filled with teasing and stealth and all the things characteristic of their partnership and their life. But she’s angry, and she knows he is too, and thanks to the shower, she’s already more than a little wet.

Clint continues to push up against her, keeping his firm hold on her body as she drops her head onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin. His rhythm is fast and hurried, as if he’s too close to the edge of a precipice and can’t stop himself from slowing down. He goes over, and as much as she tries to hold out, she follows instantly after, the intensity of her orgasm spreading through her body and rendering her both breathless and weak. The shower is still pounding water onto his back as he slides out and lets her down, and Natasha grabs for the bath rod to steady herself as her legs remember what it feels like to support her body. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, it’s suddenly quiet except for their heavy breathing and rush of the water. Natasha doesn’t speak again until she feels like she can talk normally.

“Towel,” she says curtly, extending her hand, using the other to turn off the shower. He gives her a look but gets out of the tub, handing over a large towel that she wraps herself in before following. He’s already exited the bathroom by that point and she takes advantage of the extra moments to fully dry herself off from head to toe before walking out.

“You know, I never thought I’d get used to this,” Clint says from where he’s stretched out on the bed in nothing but his boxers, still damp hair pressed into the pillow. “The whole being married and then being in love with my partner thing, not to mention the sex.”

Natasha sighs as she gets dressed in a pair of loose fitting sweats. “It’s called polyamory, Barton. Do I have to mediate _everything_ in this relationship?” She gets into bed with him and pulls the covers up; it’s not even that late but she’s so tired and frustrated that she finds she doesn’t care.

“You’re still angry,” Clint assesses after a moment, his voice cautious.

“Yes,” Natasha acknowledges. “And we’re going to talk about it.”

“I thought we just did,” he grumbles, and Natasha groans, flopping onto her back, leaving dark spots of water on the pillowcase.

“When you have fights with Laura, do you just have sex and then forget the whole thing happened?”

Clint tilts his head, as if he needs to consider his answer, and then shrugs. “Yeah, sometimes. Depends on how bad the fights are.”

Natasha closes her eyes and counts to ten in her head. “Clint. You cannot make decisions for me unless it’s a situation that involves one of us being completely incapable of doing so.” She props herself up on one elbow, regarding him seriously. “I’ve had people make decisions for me my entire life. You were the first person that ever let me decide things for myself, and you took that freedom away from me when you went to Fury and Hill without my knowledge.”

“I was just trying to protect you,” he says haltingly, and Natasha purses her lips.

“I don’t need protecting, Clint. And if I do, I’ll let you know. We know how to read each other now.” She pauses, shoving her legs out in front of her. “What I _do_ need is for you to talk to me about things that involve us, rather than going out and calling the shots. Think of this partnership like your marriage.”

“I do,” Clint protests, turning over so that they’re almost forehead to forehead. “You know that I do.”

“Then don’t think that you know what I want without asking me,” Natasha argues, and Clint swallows down what looks like a large lump in his throat.

“Is it the team thing?”

“No,” Natasha admits. “It’s not about this team thing, whatever it is. It’s about _us_. I don’t want to do things without you, but it doesn’t mean that I agree with everything that we’re involved in. Or not involved in. Don’t you understand that?” She watches his face as it morphs from frustration to confusion to finally, sadness.

“I know,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

Natasha exhales slowly, anger ebbing out of her at the sound of his clearly defeated voice. “I know you are. Are you going to call Laura tonight?”

“Yes,” Clint says almost immediately. “And I’m still going home tomorrow. You’re welcome to come, if you still want to. And if you still want that massage.”

“Of course I’ll still come,” she says with a glare, feeling a little stung that he’d think their argument would deter her from visiting. She pauses. “Are you going to tell her about our argument?”

Clint shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Do you want me to?”

Natasha shrugs, realizing she doesn’t even know why she’s asked the question. It was still a slow process, learning how to co-exist with each other while cultivating their own personal relationships, but no matter how many things get passed back and forth, Natasha thinks nothing can beat the admission of telling your partner’s wife you were having sex with -- and in love with -- her husband.

“Do what you think is best,” she says, rolling over. “We’re all in this together, now.”

She watches as Clint picks up his phone from the bedside table, punching in a number Natasha knows like the back of her hand. She closes her eyes and tries not to pay too much attention to the quiet conversation that happens next to her, the long enthusiastic chat with Cooper that accompanies another chat with Laura, a gentle conversation about their latest mission, and Clint’s plans for coming home. She’s almost managed to tune everything out when Clint presses the receiver to her ear rather annoyingly.

“Love you, Nat,” Laura breathes over the line before the phone goes dead. Natasha doesn’t fall asleep until Clint burrows in next to her and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her head. She doesn’t wake up until she realizes she’s both alone and cold, the covers wrapped tightly around her middle.

“I hate you,” she mutters when she squints enough to make out his form walking back into the bedroom with a mug of coffee. Clint sits down on top of the covers, right by her legs.

“Sorry,” he says, pushing back her hair. “But let’s face it, you didn’t miss much. You know Laura says there are two Clint Bartons? Before coffee and after coffee. And you don’t try to talk to the one before coffee,” he continues, taking a long drink.

“That’s accurate,” Natasha mutters and Clint smiles around his cup.

“Anyway, figured I’d try to let you sleep after yesterday.”

Natasha struggles to sit up, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. “Dumbass. You know I can’t sleep well when you’re not here. “

“Even if you’re mad at me?” Clint asks with an apologetic half-grin, before sighing. “Got an early morning wake-up call from HQ. They want me to bring in that drive and go over it with some analysts in the lab.”

“Mmm.” Natasha reaches for his coffee, trying to orient herself. “You?”

“Technically both of us, but I owe you a break,” he says, letting her take the mug from his hands as he leans over to kiss her. “I’ll take care of it and then I’ll meet you at the farm. You go ahead and spend some time with Laura. Get that massage. Tell Cooper I’ll be home with presents.”

Natasha stops with the mug halfway to her lips, eyeing him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Clint responds. “I already called and told her not to expect me for another day or so. It’ll be good for you to relax a little.”

“That’s not the point,” Natasha says, groaning as he gently puts a hand on her right kneecap, exacerbating a bruise there. “You need to relax, too.”

“I can handle two more days,” Clint says, though Natasha notices it looks like it’s paining him to say the words out loud. “Go home, okay?”

“Clint --”

“ _Natasha_.”

In the end, Clint wins the argument by pulling a trump card and calling Laura back, putting her on the phone to make her case, which is how Natasha ends up squeezed into the middle seat of a Boeing 747 en route to Des Moines International Airport, shifting uncomfortably through the flight while reminding herself that it’s absolutely unethical to poison someone for the simple act of snoring.

“I love it when you guys fly commercial,” Laura says when she pulls up at the passenger arrival area, hitting the lock on the minivan’s door. “It’s almost like you’re normal people.”

Natasha snorts as she flings her bag in the backseat, before getting into the car and kissing Laura hello. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re the most normal people you know.”

“Really.” Laura gives her a look. “Remind me what it says on your business card again?”

“Natasha Alianovna Romanoff: Certified secret agent, lethal assassin, and qualified heartbreaker. Exceptions made for one Mr. and Mrs. Clinton Barton.” She smirks out of the side of her mouth and Laura laughs quietly as she steers the car out of the airport and into traffic.

“Where’s Cooper?”

“With my parents.” Laura glances in the rearview mirror as she switches lanes. “He’s excited you’re coming home, but I wanted to give you my full attention, so I decided he could wait to see you until later.”

“Fair enough,” Natasha agrees, putting her legs on the dashboard, knowing that unlike Clint, Laura won’t tell her to take them off. “But be warned that if you want to do it in the car, Clint will be pissed that he missed out, and neither of us will hear the end of it.”

“Our little secret,” Laura promises, glancing at her again. “Does it hurt?”

It takes Natasha a moment to understand what Laura’s asking, and she shakes her head.

“You can do a full sweep when we get home, if you want, but everything’s intact. I think. The cut on the back of my neck should heal with a minimal scar.”

Laura nods slowly, her fingers gripping the wheel a little more tightly, and Natasha puts a hand on her arm.

“He’s okay, too. I promise. Got hit on the head in a surprise attack, but it was only a minor concussion and his cuts are all surface injuries. I patched them up before we left.”

Laura’s hands are still white knuckling the steering wheel, but Natasha notices she’s breathing a little easier.

“I’m still not used to it sometimes,” she says quietly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. You, him...both of you coming home with things like this that you don’t even blink at.”

Natasha looks down at her hands and tries to stifle a laugh. “We blink at it,” she says after a moment. “But we also try to spare you the worst of it, unless it’s really bad.” She leans back a little more. “We’re nice like that.”

Laura manages a smile and then takes a deep, long breath. “Do you mind stopping in town before we go home? I want to pick up a few things for dinner, and it’s easier if I do it on the way back.”

Natasha shakes her head. “What was it you asked me about being _normal_?”

Laura bites down on another smile as she steers the car off the highway and onto the road Natasha recognizes as leading towards home; Clint flies commercial more often than she does and it’s rare that Natasha gets a civilian pick-up at all, but she’s made the trip enough times to file away the landmarks in her photographic memory.

“I promise a full cuddling session and a massage when we get back to make up for the detour,” Laura says after they park in the small lot outside of the stretch of town that Natasha’s almost become accustomed to. When Natasha turns her head, she shrugs. “Clint talks. I listen.”

“You’re pretty much the _only_ one who does,” she says and Laura reaches over to put her hands on Natasha’s skin. She sighs, but lets Laura pull back her shirt collar until she can see the bandaged cut more clearly, avoiding the frown taking up residence on Laura's face.

“I’m fine,” she repeats firmly, pulling her shirt back up. “Some thugs tried to take a bite out of me, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. Don’t worry about me. Okay?”

She knows the look in Laura’s eyes will probably never go away, no matter how many times she tells her not to worry and how many times they come home, because it just wasn’t how Laura was wired. Clint was different, she’s realizing: he was an anomaly, whether it was from his army days or from something else. He worried, but he knew how to accept the dangers of the job. Natasha knows that Laura, for as much as she mentally let herself do the same, has too much of her life rooted in normalcy to ever brush off something like wounds that are bigger than a paper cut.

“Okay,” Laura says, dropping her hands and smoothing down her long, billowing shirt. She kisses Natasha quickly again before getting out of the car. Halfway towards the small market where Laura routinely does her food shopping, a voice stops Natasha in her tracks.

“Laura! I thought you were picking up your husband today.”

Natasha and Laura turn at the same time and Natasha watches as Laura greets the unknown woman with a warm hug that she’s rarely seen her give anyone who's not family. For some reason, the action makes her feel a little uncomfortable, and it bothers her that she can’t place why.

“There was a slight change of plans...he’s not coming in until tomorrow,” Laura says with a small shrug. “Hannah, this is Natasha.”

“Oh! Hello!”

Natasha doesn’t miss the way Hannah’s eyes drop as Laura places a gentle hand on Natasha’s arm.

“Are you visiting?”

 _Something like that_ , Natasha thinks. “Yes,” she answers, putting on her best undercover smile. “For a few days.”

“Well, you picked a good time to come out to Iowa,” Hannah responds. “You don’t want to visit in the winter, that’s for sure. Unless you really like the cold.”

Natasha smiles tightly. “Strangely enough, the cold and I get along.”

“Natasha works with my husband in New York,” Laura explains. “She’s almost as natural at home improvement as he is.”

“Really.” Hannah raises an eyebrow. “Are you any good with sanding wood? Because my husky needs a new dog run.”

“Don’t take my guest away from me,” Laura teases, squeezing Natasha’s arm gently. “But you can tell Dave that he’s welcome to return my bottle of White Zinfandel anytime he pleases.”

“I’m pretty sure we have to buy you another bottle -- did you _see_ the monstrosity that was the game last night?” Hannah pauses to roll her eyes and then smiles at Natasha. “Anyway. Good to meet you, Natasha. Laura, tell Clint I said hi.”

“Of course.” Laura leans forward to give Hannah another hug, and Natasha waits until they’ve entered the market to ask her question.

“Who is she?”

“Hannah?” Laura grabs a shopping cart and fishes a small piece of paper out of her pocket, leaning over to grab a bottle of olive oil from the shelf. “A friend. She’s known me for years, since Cooper was born. She lives in the next house over.”

“Do you see her a lot?” Natasha presses. She’s unsure of why she feels blindsided by the fact Laura has such close friends; she’s known since their first meeting that Laura wasn’t the type of person who sat alone and wallowed about her husband’s absence in solitary silence.

“I do,” Laura says. “We both work, and with Cooper it’s sometimes hard to find the time to get out of the house. But we manage coffee dates, and sometimes she comes to the house if she wants to visit. Clint’s good friends with her husband.”

“Oh,” Natasha says quietly, following Laura down the aisle and watching as she grabs a bag of lettuce and some mushrooms. “I guess you have a good life here.”

Laura turns around as she deposits the items in the cart. “I guess I do,” she says slowly. “But I also realized I don’t need much to make me happy. I’m good with anything as long as I have the important people...Clint and Cooper and my parents and my friends...and you.”

Natasha looks up, tucking hair behind her ear. “Me,” she repeats softly, looking around. “What are we, exactly?”

Laura looks confused, her hands stilling on a packet of cheese. “We’re...we’re us,” she responds carefully. “We’ve always been us.”

Natasha laughs quietly. “That doesn’t exactly help. How can we be _us_ if I don’t even know what I am to you?”

Laura looks at her curiously. “Why are you asking me this?”

Natasha’s breath catches in her throat and she wishes she could drown her feelings in the bottle of wine that’s conveniently sitting in the next aisle over. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, from the moment we kissed -- from the moment we decided we were something beyond just me and Clint, or you and Clint -- you’ve always been the one telling me how to exist in this relationship, when I was unsure of how it would all work,” Laura says, keeping her voice low. “And now you seem like you’re not sure about anything.”

Natasha feels her cheeks burn at Laura’s accusing tone. “I spent a lot of time in my life convincing myself of things that seemed good, in order to survive,” she admits. “But sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m just telling myself lies. Your children aren’t mine. Your marriage isn’t mine.”

“But you are,” Laura says automatically, steering Natasha into a corner, away from the other shoppers. “ _You’re_ mine.” She swallows, her eyes darting downward suddenly. “It’s not me, is it?”

“What?” Natasha’s heart speeds up, and she reaches out, turning Laura’s face upwards. “No, Laura...no, it’s not you. I _love_ you.”

Laura cracks a small smile. “And I love you, too. So why are you feeling this way?”

Natasha finds that she can’t answer, and Laura sighs quietly as she looks down at her cart.

“Let’s go home,” she says after a moment. “There’s something that I want to show you.”

Natasha nods and follows Laura to the checkout line and then out of the store. They drive back to the farm in silence that Natasha thinks is far too awkward, but Laura takes her hand and doesn’t let go, and it makes her feel a little better about the situation. The weight on her chest lifts as soon as she exits the car and sees the house; she takes a breath of fresh air and lets it settle in her lungs. The cool, undiluted air fills her, as if she’s fully aware of her being for the first time, and she focuses on everything she hears and feels -- the early hooting of an owl, the rustling of the grass, the hot sun beating down on her skin. When she feels herself growing a little more calm, she turns to find Laura staring at her.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Being home?”

 _Home_. “It is,” she agrees softly, taking Laura’s outstretched hand. She expects her to lead her into the house, but Laura pulls her close, wrapping her arms around her back.

“I’ve missed you.”

Natasha knew that Laura liked her partly because she was everything her husband wasn’t. In the same way, to Natasha, Laura was everything Clint wasn’t: whole and natural and pure, she smelled like baked bread and fresh dirt and apricot shampoo while Clint was often more abrasive, filling her senses with the smell of stains and blood and stale coffee, all of which seemed in line with his patched up personality. Yet somehow, in a way that Natasha still can’t figure out, they’ve all managed to fit, even if their formation sometimes still felt a little strange and new.

“Come inside,” Laura continues when they finally break away, and Natasha enters the house, automatically heading upstairs to drop off her bag. She stops short when she gets to the guest bedroom that, over the past few years, she’s essentially appropriated for herself.

The first few times Natasha had been here the room was barely finished, save for a bed and a dresser, most of which housed Laura and Clint’s old clothes; the corners were piled high with old furniture and boxes of spring cleaning. As they had settled into more of a life on the farm, and as Natasha had settled into being more of a presence, the room had become a little less cluttered and a little more homey: the big, fluffy pillows Natasha liked that Clint and Laura had in their bedroom became a staple rather than a luxury, the large quilt that Natasha knew usually lived on the couch downstairs always conveniently found its place on her bed, and hand drawn pictures from Cooper started appearing on the bulletin board propped up against the window in the corner.

The room that Natasha is facing is unequivocally hers, but it’s different than it had looked even a month ago. The bedding is new and clean, the wrought iron bed covered with a floral printed comforter that Natasha recognizes as the one she had seen in a catalog once while they were eating dinner -- the one she had half-joked to Laura she’d probably own if she ever lived somewhere that wasn’t a single walled room or apartment. There’s a stuffed chair in the corner with two pillows, a large hanging mirror across from the closet, and a new bedside table that looks slightly out of place against the chipped walls of the farmhouse, complete with a working clock and a few butterfly coasters for coffee. Most of the remaining clutter has been cleared away, and there are a handful of new drawings from Cooper tacked to the bulletin board -- which, Natasha notices, is no longer simply propped up against the window, but neatly tacked to the wall.

“We had some work done to it,” Laura says quietly, coming up behind her as Natasha’s eyes land on a collection of three photos lining the dresser: one of Cooper and Natasha during an early Christmas, one of Natasha and Laura drinking coffee in front of the house, and one of Clint and Natasha somewhere in England that Natasha vaguely remembers being taken during a mission -- though she also remembers she had threatened Clint with murder once she realized what he had done. “I thought maybe it would make it feel a little more personal, now that you’re here so often.”

Natasha looks around, putting her bag down, afraid to ask the words out loud in case she’s misreading the whole situation. “This is...this is mine?”

“More or less.” Laura smiles in confirmation. “I still need to add another bookshelf -- and Clint wanted build something for you to store your weapons, or for reports that you wanted to keep private --- but it’s yours, Natasha. This is your space.”

“But...” Natasha trails off. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Laura says firmly. “Clint and I have been talking about doing this for awhile, but it’s been hard for him to work while he’s away. We finally got it finished last week.”

“But what…”

“When and if you decide to stay longer, or when you decide that you’d rather sleep with us more, we’ll talk about it,” Laura breaks in. “But for now, this is yours. Besides, it’s not like we have a lot of people coming to stay here. If Cooper’s friends sleep over, we let them use his room. And my parents haven’t really spent the night since Cooper was a baby.”

Natasha nods, glancing around the room again. “Thank you,” she says quietly. It feels like she’s barely being grateful for what she’s just been gifted with, but she also has no idea how to truly express the feelings that are swirling through her. She wonders if Clint had ever told Laura about the fact that Natasha never felt like she had a real place to belong in the world, and she wonders if Laura understands the importance of what she’s just done.

“You can add things when you want,” Laura continues. “Pictures or books or anything you’d like. The drawers are empty, if you’d like to start leaving any clothes here, and I promise I won’t wash them without your permission.” She waves her hand around, letting it settle on Natasha’s shoulder. “When you’re here, we want you to feel like you’re home.”

“Does that include dinner?” Natasha asks tentatively and Laura laughs, kissing her on the forehead.

“Only if you don’t help me _too_ much. Cooper’s really into spending time in the kitchen these days, and his play kitchen isn’t cutting it.” She leaves Natasha in the room, closing the door behind her, and Natasha lets herself sit in the silence of the space -- her space. _Her_ room. Even before they started realizing they had feelings for each other, she always felt like she had a place at the farm, thanks to Laura’s openness and Clint’s insistence that she be included in everything from reading to his child to helping Laura with organizing schoolwork. But even though things felt comfortable enough when she was around, the moment she left, there was no denying the tug-of-war of feelings that came with going away. The farm wasn’t hers in the same way it was Laura’s, or Clint’s, or even Laura’s friends: the people that cultivated it and made it lived in or spent enough time here. It was home, but it wasn’t a home Natasha felt like she deserved, or could grasp. Not yet.

“Dammit, Clint.”

She mutters the words out loud to an empty room and then gets up, opening one of the big windows and allowing the mustiness of the space to air out.

 

***

 

“So, you saw the room?” Clint asks later when he calls after his meetings, and after Natasha and Laura and Cooper have eaten dinner. “Whaddya think? Nice, right?”

Natasha exchanges a glance with Laura, who is cleaning up the kitchen. The phone is placed between them on the counter, and his voice sounds louder than usual over the speaker.

“You didn’t have to do it,” Natasha says finally because she still doesn’t know what to say. She notices that Laura remains quiet even as Clint rushes to respond.

“But I wanted to. Come on, Tasha. This is like, my big moment. Don’t stomp on it. This is worse than the time you one-upped me on finding the best diner in Norway.”

Natasha can’t help but laugh as the conversation is interrupted by small feet thumping down the stairs and shuffling across the floor. Laura instantly reaches for the phone, taking off the speaker option as Cooper pads into the kitchen in his moose slippers.

“Is it time already?” Natasha asks, turning to meet Cooper’s gap-toothed smile.

“I got a blanket and everything!”

“Oh, really?” Natasha puts one hand on Cooper’s shoulder as they walk out of the room together, climbing the stairs and situating themselves on Cooper’s bed. Cooper immediately spreads his blanket over Natasha’s legs, snuggling into her side.

“Show me our map,” Natasha says after a pause, because it always catches her off guard when she realizes how open Cooper has become with her. He’d barely been two when she had first started visiting the house, and in the three short years since she’d slowly become more of a part of Clint and Laura’s life, she feels like she’s seen the relationship between her and Cooper change as much as Clint and Laura had being his parents. Cooper smiles and slides off the bed, pulling a large black and white world map from the corner of his room and bringing it over. Natasha helps him spread it out on the covers, staring at the map, which is dotted with a few colored spots in various areas. He picks up a marker and looks at her expectantly as Natasha points to a large spot on the left.

“California,” she says, and Cooper bites his lip, carefully coloring in a blue spot on the map. Laura had been confused when she picked it up at the craft store, figuring Natasha needed it for work purposes, until Cooper had explained that “map time” with Natasha was his favorite way to spend an evening. It was a conversation that had later taken place between all three of them in the bathroom; while Clint couldn’t tell his son about what he really did and while they couldn’t accurately explain Natasha’s inclusion into the family, allowing Cooper to share Clint and Natasha’s travel experiences was something they _could_ do. It had turned out to be helpful in more ways than one: it supplemented his learning, and for Natasha, it had become a ritual that stuck, one not unlike Clint and story time.

“Cali...for...ni...a,” Cooper repeats methodically as he works and Natasha kisses him on the head.

“Good. Do you know what they have in California?”

Cooper thinks, scrunching up his nose until his entire face becomes a wrinkled mess. “Beaches!” He looks at Natasha for hopeful confirmation. “Right?”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees. “Beaches. And sun, and water, and also mountains.”

“But not me,” Cooper says, shaking his head and Natasha’s heart swells at the sight of the little boy sitting placidly on the bed, one small hand pressed to her knee.

“No, not you,” she says. “Where do you live?”

Cooper doesn’t hesitate before he sticks his finger onto a state in the middle of the map. “Here! With mom and dad and Nat. And the horses and the dogs and the barn!”

“Except you don’t have a horse or a dog,” Natasha reminds him gently, trying to ignore the unease that filters through her stomach at the words. Fortunately, Cooper saves her brain from focusing on too many conflicting emotions by instantly pointing to another shape on the map.

“Go here next!” Cooper giggles as he points to a large blank splotch, and Natasha hides a snort of laughter.

“I’ll ask your dad,” she says affectionately, staring down at the state of Kentucky, thankful that at least he hadn’t pointed out somewhere like Afghanistan. She gently shoves the map and marker aside and reaches for the book sitting on Cooper’s small bedside table, opening it and starting to read until Laura walks in with the phone so Clint can say goodnight to his son. Natasha’s learned by now when and where to take her cues, and so when her spy-like ears hear Laura coming up the stairs, she closes the book and kisses Cooper goodnight, letting his parents have their time with him while she prepares to settle in.

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” Laura asks gently after she’s put Cooper to bed, entering the bathroom where Natasha is scrubbing at her face with a hand towel. “Or do you want to try out your new space?”

Natasha raises her head as she wipes the last of mascara-laced water out of her eyes, staring at her reflection in the mirror and trying to ignore how visible she feels her emotions are, the way she can see them written all over her face, as if she’s lost the mask she’s spent so many years perfecting.

“Would you mind sleeping with me? In my room?” She swallows, the words still feeling foreign on her tongue. “Since Clint’s not home yet?”

Laura smiles slowly. “Of course,” she allows, leaning over to kiss Natasha on the forehead. “Go get your tea. I’ll meet you there when I’m done in here.”

Natasha nods, moving past Laura and walking downstairs. She fills two smaller mugs with instant hot water, steeping some of the new tea bags she’d picked up from one of their recent trips to England, and by the time she makes her way back upstairs Laura’s already gotten into bed.

“I forgot what it was like to go to sleep at a reasonable hour,” she says with a small, contented sigh as Natasha closes the door, putting both of their mugs on the bedside table.

“Even now?” She gestures to Cooper’s room, and Laura looks a little embarrassed.

“When I’m alone, I have a hard time going to bed until it gets late.”

Natasha’s throat burns with something that feels like guilt, even though she knows it’s not her fault that their job is the way it is. And she knows that compared to a few years ago, Clint’s home more often than he’s in New York -- he now spends barely more than a few days at a time in the apartment unless there’s an assignment -- but she also knows their absence will never be easy on the people in their life who love them.

“You have me now,” she says quietly, getting into bed, and Laura looks up with a genuine, soft smile that belies the sadness manifesting in her eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

She holds out her hand as Natasha crawls into bed, using her other arm to grab the tea Natasha’s left for her. The bed is a little more comfortable than the one in Clint’s apartment and as such, it feels a little more gentle on the bruises that still cover her body, Laura’s soft fingers skirting over her chest and her side and her arm, until they find their place at the back of her neck, settling softly on the large cut. Natasha breathes out slowly as Laura’s hands still, because her skin feels like a cool wave of water over a spot of skin that’s been coated with fire. She closes her eyes, managing to fall asleep easily with the aid of the other girl’s touch.

 

_She’s back in the warehouse, moving through the debris and the fire and the waves of heat, dodging bullets and arrows, tripping and falling over everything in her path. There are too many of them, she knows that, but she shoots anyway, blindly aiming her gun in every which direction._

_A scream distracts her from her current target and she turns to see Clint standing above her, arrow poised to shoot. Before Natasha can scream out her warning, another man comes up behind him and plunges a stray arrow into his back, and then Clint’s falling, his wide, terrified eyes searing into her gaze as he buckles forward, dropping off the ledge, his mouth moving slowly with his last words._

I love you.

_Clint’s falling, but she can’t stop him. She can’t stop him because she can’t move, because there’s a pair of silver handcuffs tying her wrists to a metal bed, which has been rooted to the floor of the warehouse. She can’t move and she can’t speak; her voice is lost in her throat as she tugs and tugs and tries desperately to remove herself from the hold of her past. Clint hits the ground with a sickening thud, the painful finality of death driven home with the stillness of his body, and she screams. In her terror, she finally, painfully, wrenches free of the handcuffs, her hand smacking into the rail of the metal bed hard enough to hurt._

 

“Natasha! Oh my god, Natasha!”

Fire and debris and hazy orange suddenly give way to silence, to a dark and quiet room and a large, soft bed. The pain remains, however, and even though she’s lying down, her head is spinning wildly. Natasha rarely experienced hangovers from drinking, but the feeling isn’t unlike what she’s used to having after one of her benders.

“Natasha?”

She can’t answer, and she can’t make her mind understand what’s just happened, and she can’t get the image of Clint falling out of her mind.

“Hey,” Laura continues quietly, stroking her hair with fingers that Natasha can feel are shaking. “Relax, Natasha. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

 _Laura_. _Laura, Laura, Laura_ … “Laura,” she manages to gasp out through anxiety-ridden breaths, trying to anchor herself. She’s growing more awake now, her eyes adjusting to the room as she remembers and understands where she is -- not in a warehouse, not watching Clint die. A room. Her room. The farm. Cooper across the hall. Laura in bed next to her. Her eyes move finally to Laura’s face, and for the first time, she notices the large red scratch across the top of Laura’s chest, above her low cut pajama shirt. A hitched sob escapes her throat and she bites down on the sound, even though it severely decreases the oxygen in her already compromised airway.

“I hurt you,” Natasha says tightly, staring at Laura’s pale face, her messy and ragged hair falling in waves around her cheek.

“Nat, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Natasha says, her hands shaking, because this is too familiar. It’s too much like the way she lashed out and hurt Clint at the beginning of their relationship, even though that had been not from nightmares, but from specific triggers. “I _hurt_ you.”

Laura looks a little hesitant, but shakes her head. “It’s not your fault,” she says quietly. “You didn’t know what you were doing. It was a nightmare.”

“No one has to apologize for their nightmares,” Natasha says, looking at the mark on Laura’s skin and feeling sick. _No one but me. No one but the girl who was made out of knives, who used to be handcuffed to a bed for this exact reason_. She shoves her arms out, palms up, and Laura looks confused for a moment before leaning forward. There are a few minor cuts littering her skin, but there are also faded red marks that leave stripes across the underside of her wrist. She knows Laura’s probably noticed them at some point, though she also knows Laura also probably assumes they’re from one of her missions.

“Are those from when you got hurt?” Laura asks softly, and Natasha thinks she’d laugh if she didn’t feel like she was going to cry.

“Not exactly.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It was what they did to me. In the Red Room. They handcuffed us to the bed so that we couldn’t run away...so we couldn’t kill each other in our sleep.”

Laura sucks in a sharp breath and Natasha watches her eyes drop to her wrists again, stretching her fingers forward. She lets out another quiet sob at the motion and scrambles back, pressing herself against the rail of the bed.

“Please...don’t. Don’t touch me,” she says desperately, her breathing speeding up again. “I can’t...I can’t.”

Laura’s eyes are steeped in sadness and she draws back, and for a long time there’s silence as the two women stare at each other -- Natasha shaking, her skin clammy and her throat dry, Laura sitting straight and rigid with her hands in her lap, nothing spread between them -- even the wind is quiet tonight. Natasha realizes that she wants to say something, but she feels entirely out of her element.

“When Clint had his panic attack, I learned that it helps to move, and to change your location to get your bearings,” Laura says softly, breaking the silence. “Do you want to come sit by the window?”

Natasha doesn’t answer but fumbles for the mug of tea that’s been left out on the table and downs it quickly, letting the now icy ginger-infused water jolt her senses. She gets up slowly and moves on shaky legs to one of the two chairs Laura’s set up at the other corner of the room, curling up as Laura follows, dropping into the chair next to her.

“Don’t touch me,” she repeats, taking a shaky breath and Laura stops with one hand stretched tentatively forward.

“Why?”

“I can’t...you can’t…” Natasha’s unable to get the words out and Laura blinks a few times in the dark, her hair spilling onto her shoulders as she hunches over.

“Are you afraid that you’re going to hurt me? That you’re going to hurt Cooper?”

Natasha closes her eyes, trying to bring her breathing back to a normal rate, trying to forget the still vivid image of Clint falling to his death and trying to ignore the mark on Laura’s skin. “There might be a time when I do,” she says softly. “And then what are you going to think?”

Laura regards her carefully, sitting back in her chair. “I’m going to think you made a mistake,” she says seriously. “Like the way my husband made mistakes when he didn’t tell me what he really did for a living. Like the way my mom made a mistake when she lied about where my dad was during my childhood. Like the way Cooper made a mistake when he yelled at me and told me that I wasn’t being a good mother.” She pauses to let her words sink in. “Do you think we’re going to just throw you out the door when you mess up? Do you really think we’re just going to give up on you like that?”

“People do,” Natasha says, refusing to meet Laura’s eyes. “Everyone has.”

“I’m not people, Nat,” Laura reminds her. “And I’m not everyone. I’m me. And I know you. You can be scared, but you’re a part of our lives. And you’re a part of our family. We don’t give up on family.”

Natasha blinks back tears. “But I’m never going to be safe. I couldn’t be trusted...I don’t know why he trusted me to begin with.”

Laura immediately puts her hand on Natasha’s leg, thumbing her skin through the thin fabric of her pajama pants. In that moment, Natasha feels herself break, and she pitches forward into Laura’s arms.

“I know why,” Laura says against her neck, her fingers tightening around Natasha’s body. “The same reason I decided I liked him when I walked into his bar without realizing what I was getting myself into. The same reason your boss decided he could do this job, without knowing him aside from a few personal files.”

Natasha puts her cheek against Laura’s shoulder. “What did you learn as a kid that made you say all the right things?” She sits up, dragging a palm across her eyes. “Is that like, some Midwestern superhero thing?”

Laura laughs quietly. “I’m no superhero, Natasha. I’m just...me.”

Natasha swallows. “Well, then maybe you have some hidden superpower. You certainly know how to soothe a former assassin who has nightmares without scaring her away.” She tries to keep her voice light, but it cracks on the last word, and Laura gives her a sad smile back.

“My superpower is knowing when to take care of you. You _and_ Clint.” She strokes her hair. “And you’re going to have to do a lot more than have a nightmare to push me away.”

 

***

 

When Clint finally does come home, two days later than he’s supposed to, the resulting days are a flurry of Cooper begging his mom for time with his dad, and errands and housework, and Natasha awkwardly trying to find time to give Clint and Laura the space they need to reconnect as husband and wife. Naturally, it also includes Laura fussing over the few injuries from their latest mission that have overstayed their welcome on Clint’s body. Natasha notices she plays coy when Clint inquires about the fading scratch on her neck, waving it off as a sparring move gone wrong.

“But you should’ve seen how Nat took those guys out!” Clint slams his fist on the table and Laura raises an eyebrow as their mugs rattle slightly, coffee sloshing over the side. “She was insane. Stuck the knife into the guy’s --”

Natasha shoots him a glare and Clint immediately falls silent as Laura snakes her hands forward, clutching her mug a little too tightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, biting down on his lip. “Just know it was kinda cool.”

“I’m sure it was,” Laura says calmly, not raising her eyes. “Blood and all.”

Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint and then takes a healthy sip of coffee that’s long gone cold. “I’ll take care of cleaning up around here,” she says after a moment, looking at both Clint and Laura. “I know you need to drop Cooper off.”

“You sure?” Laura frowns, and for a moment, things feel like they’ve slid back to normal -- like they’re not three people whose lives are routinely filled with stories of blood and secrets and travel. “I always hate when I feel like I’m making you work.”

“And you’ve said multiple times that you want this to be my home, so let me feel like it is, rather than having me feel like I’m a guest who can’t get her hands dirty,” Natasha responds automatically. She tries not to sound accusatory but she’s not sure if it actually works, given the expression she can see on Laura’s face.

“I’ll stay,” Clint offers, nodding as Laura walks out of the kitchen, heading upstairs to retrieve Cooper, who’s been reading in his room. When Natasha turns to him with what she knows is a questioning look, he smiles.

“I wanna hang out with you,” he says, as if the answer is obvious. Natasha sighs.

“You just spent days hanging out with me, Clint. And not with your wife.”

“I spent days fighting bad guys with you and doing a bit of cuddling. And having shower sex,” he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought. “We didn’t spend time _hanging out_.”

Natasha snorts. “I fail to see how there’s a difference. Minus the fighting bad guys thing.”

“Come on, Nat.” He leans over and bumps her shoulder. “You’re not over here every single day, so let me _love_ you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the cheesy smile accompanying the even cheesier comment and shoves him away as she gets up, pouring out the rest of her coffee and washing the cup so she can put it in the dishwasher.

“Cookies!” Cooper’s voice interrupts her thoughts as he bounds down the stairs and practically bounces into the kitchen.

“Later,” Laura placates from the entryway in the “mom” voice that Natasha knows, as hard as she tries, she’ll never be able to replicate. “We’ll bake cookies with Nat later. After you play with your friends. Is that okay?”

“And we’ll watch movies, too,” Natasha adds once she sees Cooper’s face start to take on a stubborn look inherent of his father.

“I wanna watch _Enchanted_!”

“We can watch _Enchanted_ ,” Natasha says. “I promise. But it’s time to see your friends now.”

“You heard Nat,” Clint breaks in, walking forward. “Give daddy a hug before you go.”

Cooper races forward, shoving himself into his dad’s arms, and Clint picks him up without warning, tossing him easily over his shoulder as Cooper screams and giggles. Laura watches from the doorway with narrowed eyes.

“If he throws up his lunch, you’re on your own.”

Clint sighs dramatically but puts Cooper down, despite the “hey!” and “do it again!” choruses that start penetrating the kitchen. He pushes him gently towards Laura.

“See you later, kiddo,” he calls out affectionately as Laura gives a tired wave and ushers her son out the door. Clint groans once they’re alone, rubbing the back of his neck.

“If you hurt yourself because you stupidly picked up your son and forgot about your injuries, you’re also on your own.”

“Thanks, mom,” Clint responds, making a face. “For what it's worth, I hurt _less_ when I’m home.” He flinches as his arm stretches a little too far. “Well, kind of.”

“Probably because Laura takes care of you,” Natasha points out, causing Clint to make a wounded sound.

“Yeah, but you take care of me, too.”

“Let’s face it, I don’t patch you up as well,” she says, turning around and folding her arms. “Unless you’re dying.”

Clint huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, Laura deserves a medal for that. Probably deserves a medal for a lot more, actually.”

“With the way you continually land yourself in the hospital? Not to mention your _terrible_ sense of humor that’s sometimes embarrassing? I agree.” Natasha turns back to the sink and as she reaches for a dishtowel, she’s taken by surprise at the feeling of Clint’s body, which presses itself tightly against hers.

“ _Clint_ ,” she says as he leans down to kiss the back of her neck, pulling her shirt away. She can practically feel the stubbornness of his hard-on against her lower back. “In your house?”

Clint shrugs. “Why not? We’ve done almost everything else. Hell, you and Laura practically had sparring sex.”

“We _sparred_ , we did not have sex,” Natasha admonishes as he continues to push against her. “Even if I did make the metaphor at some point.”

Clint grins. “Seems like fair game, then... _Natasha_ ,” he teases in a low growl, pushing up against her as he continues to kiss her. Natasha braces herself against the sink, fighting a losing battle of arousal.

“Fuck,” she breathes as he bites down on her earlobe, her legs buckling against the counter. He balances her easily as she hastily turns, grabbing for his neck and pulling his mouth to her own.

“Ever done it on a kitchen table?” Clint asks as he breaks the kiss, nuzzling her ear. Natasha pulls back, appalled, her eyes darting to the large wooden table still messy with mugs, plates, newspaper clippings, and flowers from Laura’s garden.

“We are _not_ having sex on your kitchen table!”

Clint looks disappointed at her strong refusal. “Just trying to change it up.”

“Then switch rooms,” she says bluntly and Clint grins, walking out of the kitchen and into the sunroom. He closes the door before he pulls her onto the couch; Natasha knows that Laura wouldn’t care about finding them, but it makes her feel better anyway to know that he’s thinking of taking any kind of precaution in his own home.

Natasha wraps her arms around his back as he starts kissing her again, crawling on top of her and dragging her pants and underwear down. He wiggles two fingers inside of her, and Natasha arches instantly at the sensation, her own fingers grabbing for a fistful of his hair.

“Clint,” she practically moans and he looks up with a cheeky grin.

“Yes?”

Natasha makes a small noise as he twists particularly hard. “Make me come.”

He starts rubbing harder, his fingers working expertly on her body with all the practiced ease that they’ve adopted when it comes to sleeping together. Natasha’s hips rise and tense off the couch cushions as small orgasms roll through her, sending a delicious sense of pleasure through her veins as though she’s injected herself with some kind of drug.

Whatever she’s feeling seems to have a placebo effect on Clint, who gets off of her suddenly and sheds his own pants and underwear, his now stiff cock springing free from his boxers. She sits up as Clint sits down and she leans forward, putting her mouth around his cock, sucking gently and letting her tongue run over the head.

It’s his turn to grab her hair violently, twisting red strands between his palms. Natasha continues to suck, alternating speeds and losing herself in Clint’s moans until he stiffens unnaturally, in a way that Natasha can tell is definitely not from an orgasm.

“Shit,” Clint mutters and Natasha stills with her mouth wrapped around his cock, pulling back and licking her lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Laura’s mother -- I forgot -- Tuesdays --” Clint rolls off the couch and grabs clumsily for his pants and shirt as Natasha sits up, her ears registering the soft creaking noise of someone who is definitely walking through the house.

“Clint? Laura? Hello?”

Natasha turns to Clint sharply as the voice filters into the room. “She has a _key_?”

“Of course she has a key,” Clint snaps. “She’s Laura’s _mom_.” He runs a hand through his hair so that it looks slightly less misshapen and then wipes a hand over his mouth, yanking the door open and hurrying out of the room. Natasha gives herself a moment to collect herself before following.

“Hey -- Elizabeth, hey,” Clint says loudly as he clomps into the kitchen with a big smile. “Sorry about that. Got caught up doing some work and I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“Oh, Clint.” Natasha emerges just in time to see Laura’s mother smile amusingly. “I thought I told Laura to yell at you when you worked during your time off.”

“She does,” Clint answers with a shrug. “Unfortunately, sometimes she doesn’t win that argument. Paperwork...you know how it is.” He glances up as Natasha starts to walk slowly into the kitchen and Natasha doesn’t miss the surprise that flickers across Elizabeth’s eyes as she gets closer.

“You remember Natasha right? From Christmas a few years ago?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth nods, her brow creasing and then evening out. “Yes, of course. You work with Clint on the base.”

Natasha nods, swallowing down the voice that wants to refute the lie out of instinct, even though lying on a daily basis has become part of her job. “I do.”

Elizabeth smiles. “My daughter talks about you a lot. So does my grandson. It seems you visit here often.”

Laura’s mother’s words are by no means a threat, because Natasha can read people well enough to tell as much -- but she suddenly feels uncomfortable and finds herself twisting her hands behind her back nervously.

“It’s nice to get away every once in awhile from the city,” she says carefully, when she speaks again. “Clint has been nice enough to give me somewhere to go when I need a break.”

“Well, I won’t argue when it comes to keeping Laura and Cooper busy,” Elizabeth says smartly. “Or when it comes to having a place to go that’s not a four walled room. You forget, I married someone from the army.” She winks at Natasha, who manages a small smile. “Is Laura here?”

“She went to drop off Cooper, but she’ll be back soon,” Clint says with a wave of his hand. “Want a drink while you wait?” He’s already halfway to the fridge, taking out a pitcher of freshly made iced tea and for the first time, Natasha finds herself feeling more than a little out of place, unsure of what to do and how to proceed.

“Hey, join us,” Clint says, waving a hand in Natasha’s direction as Laura’s mother sits down at the table. Natasha does, sitting down stiffly as Clint pours three glasses.

“So. Natasha.” Elizabeth smiles and Natasha suddenly sees Laura, albeit a little older and with more wrinkles and grey hair. “Laura tells me you love cooking.”

“Oh.” Natasha looks down at the table. She’s not surprised Laura’s talked about her to her parents, but she _is_ surprised that her mother cares enough to include her in the conversation so openly. “I do. I’m not the world’s best chef, but I try to help out when I visit. It’s the least I can do. And Clint doesn’t let me cook much for him when we work together.”

“I know _that_ feeling,” Elizabeth says with a slight laugh. “I taught Laura how to cook at an early age, even though I was always around. It was a way for us to spend time together. Until Clint took her away from me,” Elizabeth teases and Clint breaks into a full grin.

“Hey, I only stole her after she turned twenty-one,” he protests, leaning forward over his glass. Elizabeth turns back to Natasha and smiles again.

“Did you grow up cooking, too? With your parents?”

“I --” Natasha finds the words catching in her throat and avoids the look she knows Clint is stealthily giving her. Fortunately, serendipity intervenes and Laura chooses that moment to walk back in the door.

“Mom? Clint?” She stops short as she enters the kitchen, immediately leaning down to give her mother a hug after she’s taken off her bag. “I’m so sorry, mom. I would’ve waited...I didn’t think you were coming by until later.”

“Oh, no.” Elizabeth waves her hand. “Don’t worry. Natasha and Clint have been taking good care of me.”

Natasha avoids Laura’s gaze, choosing instead to focus on her drink. Laura clears her throat in the silence.

“Well, let me just change my shoes and we can head out. Clint, can you pick up Coop later from Marla’s? I’ll call you if we’re running late.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint says, getting up and walking forward to kiss his wife. Natasha tries to hold herself back from following and participating in the same sentiment that would normally occur, if they were in private.

“Good to see you, Natasha,” Elizabeth says, reaching forward and bringing her in for a quick hug.

“Good to see you, too,” Natasha says quietly, forcing out another smile as they break apart. Clint walks them to the door, and Natasha busies herself with doing more dishes until he comes back, planting himself behind her.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s not surprised Clint’s picked up on her mood, so she doesn’t bother to let herself feel as annoyed as she knows she normally would be.

“Nothing,” she lies, turning around and wiping her hands on borrowed jeans. “I guess sometimes it’s just weird to see you like this.”

“You mean domesticated? Not shooting arrows or putting my feet up on Fury’s desk?”

Natasha shakes her head, sighing quietly. “You know what I mean.”

Clint looks a little sheepish. “When I started work, I had a hard time adjusting to, well...being a dad. And being home. And being at SHIELD,” he says, looking around. “Laura yelled at me about it for awhile.”

“I remember,” Natasha says. “But it’s gotten easier.”

“Yeah.” Clint nods. “I mean, you’ve helped.”

Natasha arches a brow. “I have?”

“Sure,” Clint says in a voice that sounds surprised. “When I bring you home and you’re a part of my family, it makes me feel like everything is normal. Like I’m not living two different lives or something. Even if this one is a little less exciting.” He smiles, and Natasha finds her eyes burning as Clint turns away to put the glasses in the sink and dishwasher.

“I expect a compensation check,” she says when she finds her voice again, pushing past the emotion manifesting there. Clint meets her eyes and grins.

“It _was_ on its way to you, but we got interrupted.”

Natasha finds she can’t even make herself tease back, her eyes dropping to the floor, and almost instantly, Clint’s in her space.

“Hey.” He puts two hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently, and she hates him for knowing her so well. She hates how he can look into the deepest parts of her with no problem and see past all her walls, both him _and_ Laura.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Natasha nods, feeling herself relax at the question. Watching movies. Eating popcorn. A normal thing that normal people did. A normal thing that wasn’t having sex with someone in a house that belonged to their wife, that wasn’t lying to important people about equally important relationships.

“Don’t show me any of those sappy films,” she warns and Clint snorts, grabbing a bag of microwave popcorn from the pantry.

“Hell no. I was thinking it was time to introduce you to the _Pink Panther_ series. They’re a comedy work of genius. And no, there’s not an actual panther. Aside from the credits.” He sticks the popcorn bag in the microwave and then hits a button, stepping away to grab a large purple bowl.

While he roots through the shelves to find the DVD, Natasha focuses on the popcorn, the bursts of sound that echo like gunshots against a quiet homefront.

 

***

 

After dinner that night, and after Laura has cleared her desk of work for the week and Cooper has been put to bed, complete with books and a bevy of questions about what their activities are going to be tomorrow, the three of them end up sprawled on the couch together. Laura’s head rests against Clint’s chest and Natasha’s stretched out with her head on the armrest, her feet up on Clint’s legs.

“So tell me about your next mission,” Laura says once they’re settled.

Clint finds himself launching into conversation almost immediately, detailing their upcoming assignment in Monaco, where him and Natasha will be tasked to go undercover as husband and wife at a fancy gala. He eventually realizes that not only has Natasha been absent from the conversation by voice, she’s also been absent mentally, staring blankly into the distance. He grabs her foot, yanking her toe back and forth.

“Hey, Mr. Magoo. Where are you?”

Natasha startles at the touch and meets Clint’s eyes. “Just tired,” she admits. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“I can help with that,” Laura decides, leaning over to kiss the spot of skin on Natasha’s bare ankle. Natasha shakes her head again.

“I think I just want to go bed early, if that’s okay. You guys can stay up, if you want.”

“No way,” says Laura. “If I get the chance to go to bed early, especially with both of you home, I’m taking it.”

Natasha smiles a little more genuinely at that, Clint notices, and Laura gets up, holding out her hand. Natasha takes it, and they walk up the stairs together while Clint makes sure the kitchen is clean and the living room is quiet before heading to his room.

“Something’s up with Nat,” Laura says quietly when Clint finally gets into bed, having changed into a t-shirt and gym shorts. She snuggles into his side as he closes his eyes.

“It’s probably nothing,” he lies, knowing Laura is right but not wanting to open the floodgates of what he knows will be Laura’s concern, as well as his own.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Laura says with a small yawn. “Before you came home. I don’t know what it was about...she wouldn’t tell me...but she seemed really shaken.”

Clint tries to keep the anxious feeling out of his stomach, kissing Laura’s head and running his hands through her hair. “She gets that sometimes. From her past, or...I dunno. Sometimes it’s a trigger.”

Laura’s quiet for so long that Clint thinks she’s fallen asleep, and when she does speak, her voice is almost a whisper.

“The mark on my neck wasn’t from sparring.”

Clint jerks up, turning over and flipping on the light. “ _Laura_!”

“It was fine,” Laura says lazily, groaning as brightness floods the room. She nuzzles back into the pillow. “I handled it. Told her it was okay...she loves us.”

Clint lets his wife drift off, sitting up in silence for a few moments before he reaches over and turns out the light again, settling back into bed. Laura’s breathing evens out almost instantly but Clint can’t let himself rest. He knows he doesn’t need to watch Natasha around his Laura, but he feels unsettled. And while Natasha having nightmares wasn’t new, Natasha having them at the house like this was. The thought makes Clint feel guilty, like it’s something they should have addressed a long time ago.

But Natasha wasn’t at the house regularly enough for Laura to know that sometimes she had violent nightmares, and Laura wasn’t at SHIELD with Clint and Natasha to know how Clint dealt with those nightmares. And Clint knows that as much as Natasha felt like she had a home at the farm, it would take an unbelievable amount of convincing to get her to _actually_ move in.

“Clint,” Laura mutters. “Go to sleep.”

He doesn’t ask how she knows he’s still awake, because Laura’s too used to sleeping with him by now. “I can’t.”

“Then take something,” Laura grumbles before turning over crossly, shoving her head under the pillow.

Clint rolls out of bed and fumbles around in one of his spare mission bags for a bottle of Tylenol PM. The pills at least let him fall asleep for a few hours, but after what feels like ten minutes, he opens his eyes to a dark room, wide awake in more ways than one.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks groggily as he tosses and turns in annoyance, frustrated with his own inability to quiet his mind.

“Just restless,” he says, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. Go back to bed.”

Laura obeys, pulling the covers up, and Clint rubs a hand over his face as he gets out of bed, carefully making his way down the stairs.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Clint says evenly, nodding towards her glass. “Did you use it all, or is there anything extra?”

Natasha smiles, waving her hand to the side, where a half-empty bottle of gin is sitting on the counter. He grabs a glass and roots around in the fridge for a bottle of tonic water, filling the cup before sitting down and raising it with a wry grin.

“To new beginnings.”

Natasha nods but doesn’t answer, and Clint takes a long sip, realizing there’s definitely more gin than tonic in his concoction. Judging by the way Natasha’s cheeks are slightly flushed, however, he doesn’t feel too bad.

“I haven’t seen you drink a gin and tonic since I first met you,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Since that night you took me out of SHIELD for the first time.”

“I was trying to impress you,” Clint admits with a laugh, taking another drink. “I figured you wouldn’t think too highly of your new partner if he ordered a PBR like he was used to doing at his bar at home.”

“And now?”

He snorts, dragging a finger around the sticky rim of the glass. “Now...I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted something that feels familiar.” He knocks more of the drink back, before finally looking up. “What are we doing, Nat?”

She shakes her head. “I should be asking you that, considering she’s your wife.”

“Yeah, but you’re...you’re my partner,” he responds, and Natasha sighs.

“Which makes us, what? Some kind of relationship where we just play house? Clint, I know you love me, and I love Laura, but I can’t forget the fact Laura was yours before we were anything that we are today.”

Clint watches as she hunches forward, her long, grown-out curls spilling around her face like a provoked flame. “Cooper really thinks of you as a mom,” he says after a moment. “Even though you’re not here all the time. He asks for you. He draws pictures of you. He talks about you to his friends.”

Natasha raises her head tiredly, her flushed cheeks looking even more pink in the din of the kitchen light. “What do you want me to say, Clint? That I’m going to move in? Start sleeping with you here all the time?”

Clint shakes his head. “I don’t know if I was looking for an answer,” he says. “I think I just wanted to talk about us. About this.”

“We _are_ talking,” Natasha says a little pointedly, and Clint fiddles with his wedding ring.

“You know, if you wanted to live here, you could. I mean, I know we gave you a room, but…” He trails off and Natasha shakes her head.

“Don’t ask me about things that you know I have no control over,” she says softly, her quiet voice interrupted by creaking floorboards.

“What did I miss?” Laura asks as she enters the kitchen, staring at both of them in turn. Natasha manages a smile.

“Don’t ask. You can share the gin, though.”

Laura makes a face. “I’ll be drunk in three seconds,” she protests, and Clint shrugs.

“Join the club.”

Laura sighs in resignation, pulling over a chair and sitting down in between both Clint and Natasha. She takes the bottle and looks at it for a moment, then screws the top open and drinks straight from the neck.

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” Clint smirks as she swallows down a mouthful of liquor.

“You can elaborate on that later,” Laura says. “After you tell me why the two most important people in my life are sitting in my kitchen at two in the morning, drowning their sorrows in alcohol and not talking about their feelings to each other. Or to me.”

Clint picks up his glass and finishes the rest of his drink, grabbing for the bottle again and making another generous pour for himself and Natasha, despite the fact that her glass is still somewhat filled and that he’s used up all of his tonic water.

“Laura --”

“I don’t know who I am.”

Clint blinks a few times in surprise, and even Laura looks shocked at the words that come out of Natasha’s mouth.

“Nat?”

“I don’t know who I am,” she repeats tiredly. “You’re both trying so hard to make me a part of your family, a part of this life, and sometimes…” She looks at Clint, picking up her newly refilled drink and swirling it around. “I know who I am when I’m with you. And I know who I am when I’m with you, Laura. Even Cooper…I know who I am when I’m with him. And I know I always sound like I’m the one that knows how to navigate this,” she continues softly. “But the truth is, I don’t. Not when it comes to things like families and friends and…”

“And?” Clint prompts, because he can’t help it. Natasha looks both annoyed and sad.

“And I have nightmares of killing people, Clint.” She swallows a healthy swig of gin. “I don’t do home improvement activities, or cook dinner, or run errands with my girlfriends.”

“So what are you saying?” Laura asks, breaking in. “That you’re not ready to make this commitment?”

Clint sees the hurt in Laura’s eyes and he feels himself grow indignant and unnecessarily angry, being that Natasha had been the one to push this with both of them in the first place. To her credit, Natasha looks increasingly guilty, her face growing rose pink.

“I don’t know what this kind of commitment is,” she says softly. “I love you both, more than anything, and I want to be here. I want to be a part of your family. I want to sleep in your room, and I want to be a mother to Cooper. But I don’t _know_ how to be a part of this life. Not yet.”

“But you still _do_ want to be a part of this,” Laura says, her voice wavering in what Clint realizes is distinct fear. “You do...right?”

Natasha rubs a thumb back and forth against the gin bottle and Clint feels his chest growing tight as he waits for her response. “Yes,” she says after a long pause. “I do. But I also just want to take it slow. I want to try and figure this out together.” She looks up at Clint, and then at Laura. “Can we do that, please? Just...can we take it slow? Together?”

Clint reaches for Laura's hand as she nods, kissing Natasha gently.

“Yes,” Laura says softly, as Clint squeezes her palm in silent agreement. “We can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is unfamiliar with Agent Carter, the Red Room canon is that girls were handcuffed to the bed as children. As always, thank you SO MUCH for reading, commenting and sharing this fic, it means the world. Special thanks to my darling [geniusorinsanity](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) who sat on the couch with me during this chapter while drinking hot chocolate and shared all my feelings and all my whining about writing.


	17. 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for triggering nightmares.

It’s snowing the first time Laura sees the farm that will become her home.

They get up early to make the drive, following the directions and coordinates Clint had received over email a few days earlier. The farm is set on a far out rural stretch of property on the edge of the small town of McCallsburg, a considerable drive from Des Moines and right outside of Ames, where Clint and Laura both travel for work.

“They sure made this location remote, didn’t they?” Laura asks as she peers through the window and through a veil of delicate white flakes. Clint grunts as he navigates Laura’s car through the weather.

“That’s the point, I guess. Besides, where else are we going to find a place this big?” He grabs for the coffee he’d bought for himself before they left. “Fury promised me that it’s not completely isolated, though. Said we’d have a few neighbors, and we should be close enough to town that you and Coop can do more than watch the birds sing.”

“Well, he better be right,” Laura says with a small sigh. “I don’t want to become one of those military women who have no life because they’re stuck watching their kids all day and waiting for a phone call.”

Clint smiles a little apologetically as he guides the car onto a snow-covered road, rolling to a stop beside some trees.

“This is it?” Laura frowns, looking outside, trying to get her bearings, because she doesn’t see anything resembling a house or any kind of welcoming road.

“It’s what the map says,” Clint says, squinting at the crinkled paper. He presses down on the gas pedal softly, urging the car forward. “Maybe it’s a little further up?”

As if on cue, the house -- a sprawling two-story home with a large wrap-around porch and a decorated overhang -- appears in the distance, the grey exterior nestled among snow covered trees dripping in white. Its largeness is belied by the shape; from the front it looks unassuming and simple but Laura can make out the rest of the structure that stretches back towards the woods, like a maze. The ornamental overhang is covered in a coating of light snow, and the fact that the house is a solitary sight against nothing but trees and grass makes it look like someone’s taken an old photograph, blown it up, and stuck it into the space between sky and land. Whether intentional or not, the porch light has been left on for their arrival, and Laura spies fake candles in the windows that glow warmly against the dull grey landscape, like soft beacons that promise safety and comfort in the middle of raging chaos. Laura gasps audibly as she takes it all in.

“This is...this is ours?”

“I guess so,” Clint says as he stops the car fully, his voice harboring the same measure of awe. He snakes his hand over the cupholder, twisting their fingers together, and they both sit still for a moment taking in the sight.

“Guess we should get out and do more than just gawk,” Clint says finally, unbuckling his seatbelt. Laura follows, fitting her red cap snugly over her brown hair as they exit the car and start to walk slowly towards the house, hands still tightly clasped together.

“Are you going to do me the honors of carrying me over the threshold again?” Laura asks teasingly as they climb the porch steps, leaving snowy footprints in their wake. Clint chuckles.

“Didn’t I do that at your uncle’s cabin?”

“Yes,” Laura says solemnly. “And in the apartment that we have now. I think it’s a tradition, isn’t it, Mr. Barton?”

“Tradition might have to take a backseat for safety reasons,” Clint says, gesturing to her growing stomach. “I’m not going to be responsible for screwing up my kid before he gets out of the womb.”

Laura sighs dejectedly. “I suppose that’s fair,” she relents and Clint leans over, kissing her on the cheek.

“Tell you what. After you pop this kid out, I’ll carry you over the threshold for real when we come home from the hospital. You’ll probably enjoy it more, anyway.”

Laura groans. “Your compassion needs some work,” she says, but she’s smiling. Sometimes everything still seems unreal, from her pregnancy to the new house to Clint’s new life. Joking and keeping the mood light between them has been, Laura's found, something they both needed in order to work through their anxieties and fears -- the ones that, if ignored, Laura knows would cause too many problems between them.

“Hey, I’m the most compassionate person you know,” Clint protests, pouting childishly. He sticks the key in the knob and opens the door slowly.

Laura’s not quite sure what to expect when she gets inside. The plugged in candles in the window are the only lights that have been turned on, which means the inside of the house is damp and chilly, and most of the inner rooms are dark. Laura squints into the space, and when Clint flicks on the big overhead light in the living room, she gasps again.

“It’s…”

“Mostly fully furnished,” Clint finishes, putting his hands on his hips and surveying the room along with her. There’s a lot of space and it doesn’t exactly feel like a lived-in home, or any kind of home that’s comfortable, but there’s a large couch and coffee table, a bookshelf, and a kitchen table that Laura can make out through the shadows.

“I don’t remember telling SHIELD my designer preferences,” Laura says only half jokingly. “Did you --”

“No,” Clint says, shaking his head. “All I was told was the location, and that it was a house. A big house. So either this was here before SHIELD bought it for us, or we owe my new job a lot more than just thanks for better finances.”

Laura nods slowly. The kitchen is large and spacious, with big windows and multiple spaces for storage. Peering further into the back of the house, Laura can see a door leading to an open yard, and a partitioned off room that looks it could be another small living room, or perhaps a sun room.

“There’s a bed upstairs,” Clint calls from somewhere above her, and Laura cranes her neck in the direction of the sound. “Maybe we can put the one we currently have in the guest bedroom. Or sell it.” She can hear the creaking of the floorboards as he moves around and the sound of doors opening and closing. “I gotta check the basement and pipes and all that -- I wanna make sure we won’t have problems.”

Laura trails her hand over the granite countertop, trying to imagine standing in the kitchen and cooking in it every day. She tries to feel the late morning sun shining through the two big windows on the weekends, the smell of fresh caffeine as the coffee pot coughs up a quiet but strong brew, the sound of baby food being splattered on the floor because her son is being too fussy with breakfast. She tries to imagine Clint sitting at the table with his feet up and shirt open, sipping coffee with one hand, the fingers of the other hand wrapped around a report for work that he’ll tease she can’t look at.

“Laura?”

She almost misses him coming back downstairs, lost in thought staring at the layout of the space.

“Laura?” His voice is quiet as he repeats her name, walking up beside her and putting two hands around her waist, gently rubbing her belly.

“I’m just taking this in.” She breathes him in deeply, and he tightens his grip in response. “This isn’t exactly how I thought I’d get my first home.”

“No,” Clint agrees. “It’s not how I thought I’d get mine, either. But you have to admit, it’s a pretty good deal.”

Laura smiles tentatively, because it is but she also can’t forget the reason behind why they had this house to begin with. They were supposed to move in next week, provided that they found the house suitable and didn’t find any issues, and Clint was scheduled to leave for New York for preliminary training and an orientation session the week after.

“Do you think we can really do it?” Laura asks quietly. “Be happy? With Cooper, with this house...with you being in another state?”

Clint falls quiet, and nods against her. “I don’t think there’s anything that we _can’t_ handle together,” he decides, kissing the side of her head. “I mean that, Laur.”

Laura sighs against him, cuddling him more as the chill of the still-dank house settles over her. “It’s so big.”

“We’ll get a bunch of our own furniture,” he promises. “You can pick stuff out with your mom if you want, or we can go shopping before I leave. And we’ll make it a home, Laura. Don’t worry. Before you know it, the paint’s going to be peeling off the wall and the bookshelves are going to be overflowing with too many things, and you’ll be yelling at me about clutter. I promise.”

Laura laughs quietly as she leans into his touch, trying to immerse herself in how he feels, trying to ground herself in the feeling of _home_.

 

***

 

SHIELD is everything that Clint expects, but at the same time, it’s not.

It’s just as secretive as Fury has indicated -- there are no floor markers on the elevator that proclaim where the offices are, and there’s another lobby of security past the general lobby on the ground floor -- and its headquarters are housed in a large, unassuming building in the middle of midtown Manhattan, essentially hiding the organization in plain sight. Clint arrives a little after ten in the morning to meet not Fury, but a crisp suited man named Phil Coulson who offers Clint his card and a latte and doesn’t seem to be bothered by Clint’s multiple questions.

“First order of business,” Clint says as he falls into step behind Coulson after accepting the drink. “I know you’re trying to be good and all, but I actually prefer black coffee. From the pot, not Starbucks.”

Coulson rolls his eyes. “The coffee was complimentary. And I’m not here for that. I’m here to make sure you train correctly and do your job and complete your paperwork. When you get sent out on missions, I’ll be the one to help set up your transportation and reports and briefings, so we’ll be working together pretty closely. I’ll also be responsible for making sure that when you do go out, you come back safe and sound. It tends to work out well for both of us when you follow the rules.”

“Any other advice?” Clint asks as they file through the hallway, among individuals in suits and training uniforms. Some of them, Clint notices, carry multiple firearms.

Coulson smiles thinly. “Yeah. Don’t piss off Maria Hill.”

Maria Hill reminds Clint of a cross between Laura, Laura’s mom, and one of the generals he used to work with in Iraq. She’s tall and slender with dark hair pulled into a bun as sharp as her eyes and nails. Everything about her is no-nonsense and curt and tough, though Clint feels that underneath all of that, there _has_ to be something a little softer.

“You’ll report to Coulson and myself, unless Fury overrides any decision,” Hill says when they meet, and Clint’s not surprised that her words are as manufactured as everything else about her seems to be. “I expect fully detailed reports no later than forty-eight hours after you return from a mission, and I expect to be updated on your progress routinely when you’re in the field. I’m not a fan of surprises.”

“Neither is my wife,” Clint says with a smile and Hill rolls her eyes as she shoves a thick file of orientation material into his hand.

In addition to making good on the promise of the house, Fury also makes good on the promise of an apartment so that Clint doesn’t have to live his entire life at work or in a four-walled room. It’s a studio in Brooklyn, maybe big enough for two people if you didn’t mind tripping over each other and getting in someone else’s space all the time. Clint knows he doesn’t plan to make it any kind of a permanent home, but he does think it’ll be a nice place to relax if he can’t get back to Iowa for a few days. He takes a few photos of the apartment and sends them to Laura by email, smiling when she responds with asking how he’s going to put a coffee maker in the kitchen if the only outlet she can see is on the other side of the wall.

On Clint’s third day at SHIELD, he meets Melinda May, who instantly apologizes for not being there on his first day. “There were complications,” she says, motioning to the large bruise on her temple, and Clint wisely doesn’t push the subject.

“Will you be monitoring me, too?” Clint asks, staring at her and thinking of Hill and Coulson and Fury and how much scrutiny he’s apparently going to be under, all the hand holding that he’s not quite sure he wants. May smiles, but it’s not a kind smile like Fury, and not even a tense smile like Hill or Coulson.

“Not exactly. I’m going to train you.”

If Clint had any doubts about a five-foot-three-inch Asian woman keeping up with his military skills and twenty-eight-year-old body, they're put to rest almost immediately when he's bested within four seconds of trying to throw a punch.

“I’d hate to see what your sex life is like,” Clint says when he recovers from his first beatdown, which earns him another punch to the face. Gradually, he learns how to read May’s body language -- she fights like a spy, not a soldier, which is different from how he’s always responded -- and he eventually gets good enough to hold his own in sessions, though he thinks he’ll never convince anyone at SHIELD that it’s okay to deal with things by using sarcasm and sheer wit to respond to potentially dangerous situations.

After that, training and orientation go about as well as expected, if not a little slower than he’s comfortable with. He tries to placate himself by reminding his brain that even though he’s a fast learner and even though he already had a set of skills, SHIELD was an entirely new machine that he had to get used to. Still, he finds himself fitting in easier than he’s expected thanks to his military training and mellow personality, though he doesn’t exactly try to make friends outside of the people who he works with every day.

“So I heard you’re the new recruit,” a gruff voice says one day when he’s standing at the coffee machine in the break room, and Clint turns with a raised brow. The man who’s previously spoken holds out a hand. “Agent Brock Rumlow. STRIKE, Level Five.”

SHIELD hadn’t been a laughable anomaly -- there are acronyms for everything, Clint is learning, and he lets himself mull over the words as he takes his hand. Rumlow has the same skin Clint does, a hardened palm that’s a coarse mess of marks. Clint knows Laura routinely tells him that she loves his hands, because they’re soft despite how they look. Rumlow’s hand isn’t anything close to soft, though -- it’s as harsh as it looks on the surface, matching what seems to be his equally abrasive personality.

“Clint Barton,” he says, forcing out a smile. Rumlow eyes him.

“Heard they picked you up somewhere in Bumblefuck Midwest. Bet it’s nice to have a job that’s not bartending, right?”

Clint’s taken aback by the fact Rumlow knows anything about him, not to mention his brash persona, but decides to roll with it.

“Working in the military had its perks, but it was nice to only have to worry about making vodka tonics once in awhile,” he responds with a shrug. Rumlow seems both bored and annoyed by his response, like he’s disappointed Clint hasn’t been offended. Clint tries to ignore Rumlow’s comment, but unfortunately, he’s stuck working with him more often than not, especially in training, which means he’s never really free of Rumlow’s retorts. Or, even worse, his constant bragging.

“This guy’s the ultimate dick,” Clint says when he calls Laura to check in, chugging lukewarm coffee from the pot in his room, papers strewn all over the floor. “They told me I could have a partner, and I swear to god, if they partner me with him I’m going to cause a riot.”

“Play nice,” Laura warns gently. “You can’t get fired in your first few months. What am I going to tell our son?”

“Tell him his dad stood up for himself the way I expect him to do if he gets bullied on the playground,” Clint grumbles as he gulps down more caffeine. Laura sighs.

“Let me at least have this child before you age them five years. How is everything, otherwise?”

Clint pauses, his eyes falling on the packet left half open on the desk, and he thinks of Coulson and Hill and Fury and May. “Good, I guess. There’s a lot to learn. It’s a lot different than the military.”

“How so?” Laura asks curiously.

“I dunno. More secretive, for one. Training sessions are kind of brutal, also. But I’m used to that kind of rigor, at least. And I’m supposed to get my gear soon. They’ve been training me on a bow and arrow. They said they’re gonna get me a real nice one, with a two hundred pound draw. I’ll have to show you the pictures.”

Laura’s quiet for a long time on the other end of the line. “A bow and arrow? Isn’t that...unsafe?”

“Course not,” Clint says easily. “I practice every day in a sealed gym and I take all the precautions. I don’t even hit people like Rumlow.” He keeps his voice light so that Laura can tell he’s joking on the last sentence, but Laura doesn’t laugh.

“I’m not talking about that,” she says slowly. “I mean...a bow and arrow. That’s not conventional.”

“It’s actually safer than a gun,” Clint explains. “I mean, with arrows, you don’t shoot to kill unless you _want_ to. You can control your shots.”

“It’s still a weapon,” Laura says tightly. “A dangerous one.”

“ _Every_ weapon is dangerous,” Clint says, unable to help the eye roll that accompanies his response. “Or did you forget that I used to be in the military where I used guns all the time? Same as your dad.”

Laura doesn’t answer that, and Clint glances down at his arms as silence spreads between them. “Look, I’ll be safe. I swear.”

“You’ll be like Robin Hood,” she says and Clint can tell she’s trying to both lighten the mood and make herself feel better at the same time. He chuckles.

“Well, kind of. A more attractive version of Robin Hood, I hope. Anyway, how are you?”

“My Braxton-Hicks contractions are out of control, and I hate everything,” Laura responds with a small sigh, their previous conversation seemingly forgotten. “Thankfully they’re not as bad when I move, so I’ve learned how to make them a little more manageable.”

“Wait.” Clint jolts forward, spilling his coffee on the floor at her words. “ _Contractions_?”

“Clint, it’s fine,” Laura says calmly. “It’s not labor.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Laura answers patiently. “Trust me. I’m sure. I’m still far too early for my due date. This is normal, even the doctor said so. So did my mom.”

“Doesn’t mean there could be complications,” Clint grumbles, though Laura’s calm tone soothes him. “How’s the house?”

“Big.” Laura’s voice sounds sad. “My mom’s been over here to help set things up and we’ve gone to look at some furniture. I think she’s going to give us their old couch for the sun room, if we can fix it up. It’s a little dated.”

“Put it on the list and I’ll do it when I’m home,” Clint says with a smile. He hears Laura make a small noise.

“I wish you _would_ come home. It’s lonely here without you.”

“Mmm.” Clint moves the coffee pot and then lies down on the bed, trying not to feel guilty. “Find any friends yet?”

“I met a few people in town,” Laura responds. “When I went exploring. There’s a woman who owns a bookstore who seems nice. And I think we have a few neighbors, based on the trucks and dogs I can hear, but I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself. I’ll try to do that this week.”

“Make ‘em your famous apple pies and they’ll probably love you before you say hello,” Clint says and Laura laughs quietly.

“You can’t bribe or bake your way out of everything, Clint.”

“Can’t punch or fight your way out of everything, either,” he answers. “Despite what SHIELD seems to be telling me.” He pauses. “I do miss you, though. A lot.”

“You’re not missing much, except for my constant complaining,” Laura assures him. “But I miss you too.”

Clint smiles to himself, glancing up as a sharp knock interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, Laur. I gotta go -- can I call you back later?”

“If you wake me up, I’ll kill you,” she responds in a voice that Clint can tell is only half teasing. “Call me tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hangs up, shoving the cell phone under his pillow. “Come in,” he calls after a moment, moving the coffee pot from the floor to the small bedside table.

“Agent Barton.” Coulson sticks his head in, his tie sloping downwards as he leans over. “Director Fury’s requesting you in his office. Now, please.”

Clint bites down on a sigh and nods, getting up and reaching for his shoes. He’s still not entirely used to being walked in on, or for that matter, being at someone’s beck and call, but he follows Coulson out of the room and down the winding staircase, until he gets to the elevator that he knows will take him to Fury’s office. When he gets there, he’s surprised to find Fury standing at his desk, looking down at some reports, Hill standing off to the side.

“Agent Barton.” He looks up as Clint enters. “Have a seat.”

Clint gives Fury a wary glance as he walks forward, dropping into the chair in front of his desk.

“I didn’t change,” he says uncertainly, suddenly realizing he’s neglected to take off his dirty t-shirt and jeans. He remembers Laura’s words about making a good impression and feels guilty, even as Fury smiles.

“We’ll give you a pass. Besides, that’s not why you’re here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“We want to talk to you about an assignment.”

Fury’s words have barely left his mouth before Clint’s leaning forward eagerly, almost falling over. “Hang on. I’m being sent out?”

“Not exactly,” Fury answers. “You’re not completely cleared for field duty yet, but we’re making an exception in this case.”

“And that case is…”

Fury glances up at Coulson and Hill, both of whom have moved to flank the sides of Clint’s chair like they’re some sort of undercover security team. “Close the door,” he says conversationally and Clint suddenly feels a little suspicious as Coulson walks to the back of the room, pushing the heavy door shut.

“What’s going on?”

Fury takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “We’d like you to help us bring in someone we’ve recently targeted.”

Clint startles. “ _What_?”

“Allow me to explain,” Fury continues, spreading his hands. “SHIELD has been tracking an assassin known as the Black Widow. She was trained in a place called the Red Room -- I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“No. Nor have I heard of someone who’s named after a spider,” Clint says. “ _Why_ am I being sent out?”

Fury hesitates. “It’s my belief that if we can successfully turn her, she can be a useful asset to our organization. Unfortunately, the agents that possess the level of intelligence and skill to get close to her and not get themselves killed don’t exactly come from a very large pool.” He pauses. “I assume you’ve met Rumlow by now.”

“He insulted me, if that’s what you mean,” Clint grumbles. Fury lets his lips fold into a hint of a smile.

“He’s a good soldier. But trust me when I say that he has no compassion when it comes to his job, which is why we’re not asking him to take on this mission. We think you can handle it, however.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Clint says, frowning. “I’m here barely a month. You've been training me and now you want me to be sent out on this dangerous mission, even though you have other, more experienced agents who could do the job?”

“Yes,” Fury says with a nod. Clint grunts as he leans back in his chair.

“Yeah, well. On the scale of things you’ve told me about or asked me to do since you walked into my bar last year, this isn’t even close to the strangest. So, sure. Do I get a cool jet?”

Fury shakes his head, tapping his knuckles against the table. “The jet is negotiable. But there is one other thing. And that’s a confirmation of the review of the papers you signed when you joined this organization.”

Clint smiles. “That I promise to uphold the laws of SHIELD forever and ever, so help me god?”

Fury sighs. “No, Agent Barton. That you’re to tell no one about the specifics of this operation. Not even your wife.”

Clint blinks, his stomach flip flopping at the idea of having to lie to Laura about anything, much less something that seems like it has the potential to be a dangerous assignment. “I...what?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Fury looks positively annoyed, and Clint nods.

“Yeah, actually, you do. I don’t mind not telling my wife about what I learn here, but you can’t expect me to not tell her when I travel or do something dangerous.”

“Yes,” Fury says, sounding frustrated. “We can. In case you haven’t noticed, we have security protocols.” He folds his arms. “And if I need to make that any clearer, maybe you should consider why your new home is being kept off the grid.”

Clint grits his teeth and returns Fury’s hard gaze. Everything about this conversation is causing his stomach to twist into heavy knots, an uncomfortableness that settles into his bones. It’s a feeling that he knows comes with the fear that he’s tried to quell over the years since he met Laura, the fear of being an unfaithful and terrible husband. He debates for a brief moment on whether or not he wants to argue about this, because he doesn’t agree with this kind of stipulation at all. Still, he knows if it came down to it, he’d choose Laura’s safety over anything, and he’s inclined to believe his boss’ threat.

“Fine,” he relents after a long silence. “But I have a condition.”

“A condition?” Fury asks skeptically.

“Yes,” Clint says, nodding. “A condition. I help you bring this target in, and I get to be home when Laura gives birth. She’s due in April and I want to be home with my son for at least a month, and I want to have time with him as a new father. No interruptions, no excuses. If you give me that allowance, I’ll help you, and I won’t tell Laura about this Black Widow. Deal?”

Fury eyes the two people standing next to Clint, before turning his gaze downwards again. “Deal,” he says with a look that screams the word _final_. “Now, if you’re done here, I’d like to get back to business.”

 

***

 

Laura’s sitting on the couch, starting a new knitting project, when the first real contraction happens.

She stills completely, wincing, waiting to make sure she’s not feeling things as a nervous and excited tingle bubbles up in her stomach. When another one hits, lasting about thirty seconds, she shifts and then gets up, waiting for the pinching in her uterus to subside. It doesn’t, and Laura’s heart skips a beat.

Not _true_ labor. But different than Braxton-Hicks, and close enough. And definitely cause to call Clint and let him know that he should be prepared. She walks to the kitchen and grabs for the phone, and Clint answers sounding out of breath.

“Hey,” he practically pants over the line. “Sorry -- was working out. Is it time?”

Laura raises an eyebrow. “Have you been tracking my due date or something?”

“Um.” Clint sounds sheepish. “Kind of,” he admits. “Just...you know. Not being home and stuff, I wanted to be ready.”

Laura can’t help but smile, because it was the latest in “protective, dedicated father behavior” that Clint had exhibited since Laura became pregnant. “Well, get ready,” she teases as he yelps into the phone excitedly. “I’m okay -- I think I have a bit of time before I have to get to the hospital, but you should definitely leave New York.”

“I’m on my way,” Clint says instantly and even as he speaks, Laura can hear his feet pounding down the hall. She smiles again; there’s no sense, she knows, in trying to tell him to calm down or wait, and the fact that he’s so optimistic makes her even more excited. “I’ll go straight to the hospital from the airport.”

“Don’t kill yourself trying to get here,” Laura reminds him. “Or I’ll kill _you_ , and we’ll be having a birth _and_ a funeral.” She hangs up on his laugh and goes upstairs, making sure her bag is packed with all the essential items, and then calls her parents so they can come pick her up. Elizabeth arrives with little delay and keeps her daughter company while Laura paces the house as calmly as possible, in an effort to help her contractions along to the point where Laura knows they’ll be strong enough that she won’t get sent back home to wait again.

“Looks like he really wants to come out,” Elizabeth jokes as Laura rubs at her stomach, and Laura sighs.

“At this point, I _want_ him out. I’m done with pregnancy.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Elizabeth answers, kissing her daughter before sitting down on the couch. “I guarantee that the moment you bring him home, you’ll be trying to figure out when you can have another.”

“You tell me this, and yet you only ended up with one child,” Laura teases pointedly.

“And I blame your dad for that one,” Elizabeth answers with a shrug. “It’s hard to make a baby when someone is away all the time.”

Laura knows her mother isn’t necessarily referring to Clint with her words, but she can’t help the uneasy feeling that settles in her belly as she looks down, moving around the room again. Even being used to Clint’s absence, it’s hard for her to think about how this is going to be their life for the foreseeable future: not necessarily together, even when they want and need to do things that require them to be together.

“Laura,” her mother says softly, breaking into her thoughts. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Laura responds quickly. “I know the contraction times are normal, but we should probably leave for the hospital soon, right?”

Elizabeth gives her a pointed look. “I meant, don’t worry about Clint.” She pauses, picking up a magazine from the table. “Even if he’s away with this new job, if you want another kid, you’ll find time to make it work. Dad and I probably didn’t try hard enough, especially since we were moving a lot before and after you were born. But you’re stable here, now. It’s possible, in the future.”

Laura nods, looking around the house. “I know,” she says, because she does. She holds on tight to the chair as another harsh contraction rolls through her. “But I was serious, also. About the contractions. I think they’re getting a lot stronger.”

Elizabeth smiles, getting up from the couch. “Well, let’s get you to the hospital then. I’ll call dad and let him know we’re on our way, he was just finishing his dentist appointment when you called.”

“Clint said he was coming straight from the airport,” Laura says as she follows her mother out of the house, locking the door behind her. “So as long as we tell him where to go, he can meet us at the hospital.”

When Laura and her mother arrive at the hospital and get to the labor and delivery floor, Laura’s whisked away in a wheelchair and then set up in a private room. As she settles into bed among more contractions, the welcome face of Dr. Klein appears to greet her, along with a small hug.

“We’ve got the birthing team ready, and all your doctors are here,” Dr. Klein says after hugging Elizabeth. “Are you excited?”

Laura nods slowly, trying to calm her nerves and also her excitement, because she can’t tell which feeling is which anymore. “I think so. I kind of just want him out of me already.”

Dr. Klein smiles, patting Laura on the shoulder. “Foster women are all the same,” she says fondly. “I remember your mom saying the same thing to me when she was pregnant with you.”

“But our drugs weren’t as good,” Elizabeth adds with a wink. “So, we had more of a right to complain.”

Laura swallows down a taste of fear. She had rejected any kind of pain medication or anything that would hamper her birth when they had talked beforehand, something Clint had been hesitant to sign off on until Laura had firmly insisted that she wanted this to be natural. _“If we have another, I’ll consider an epidural,”_ she had told a still-protesting Clint, before shutting him up with a long, deep kiss.

“You’ll be fine,” Dr. Klein adds, and Laura wonders if she can read what’s probably written all over her face. “I promise. For now, get comfortable, because those contractions are going to probably tire you out sooner rather than later.” She shares a glance with Laura’s mother. “The good news is, as long as your body keeps progressing naturally, we hopefully won’t have to induce.”

Laura finds that Dr. Klein’s words aren’t a lie -- a few hours later, she’s in worse pain than she’s ever felt in her life and seriously reconsidering her birthing plan decisions. In the middle of a particularly agonizing contraction that has her almost in tears, the door flies open and Clint stumbles through with a big smile, windswept hair brushing across his wide forehead and sweat beading down his neck.

“Clint,” Laura says, relief flooding her body for five seconds before another harsh contraction rolls through her. Clint takes her hand and kisses her cheek, and after a brief hug, Laura’s mother smartly leaves to get something to drink.

“Traffic from the airport,” he says as he sits down next to her, glancing over her body. “Almost killed a guy -- not literally, you know...anyway, what did I miss?”

“A lot of cursing,” Laura says, gasping through another wave of pain. “And these. I _hate_ these.” Clint’s grip on her hand tightens and he strokes her hair, and somehow, the simple touch and reassurance of her husband makes her feel a little calmer, the way Clint has always been able to make her feel calmer in any situation when she’s needed to feel better about something scary.

“Deep breaths,” he murmurs, his breath tickling her ear. “The little hawk’s going to come out. I promise.”

Laura manages a laugh through her exhaustion, because ever since Clint had done some extra research on the name they had agreed on and found out that Cooper was also a bird of prey called “Cooper’s hawk,” he had taken to calling his unborn child as such.

“Pretty fitting that you randomly chose a name for him that goes with our history,” he says, putting a hand on her arm. When Laura looks up, he shrugs. “I mean, you know. Hawkeyes. The night we met.”

Laura groans. “I love you, but please tell me that bird metaphors aren’t going to follow me around for my entire life.”

“I can’t promise that,” Clint admits, stroking her hair, sharing Laura’s grin. “But this one’s gotta _earn_ his name. Or his wings. Whatever you want to call it.” He rubs her hand, nodding towards her stomach. “Come on, little hawk,” he sing-songs quietly. “Come out and play with daddy and mommy.”

Two hours and numerous stages of heavy pushing later, Laura is crying and Clint is crying and the nurses are delivering a screaming mess of arms and limbs into the world. Clint cuts the umbilical cord while Laura continues to cry, half out of exhaustion and half out of overwhelming happiness, and Clint’s smile looks like it’s going to fall off his face. As tired as she is, Laura stares at the scene in front of her, taking in her baby’s cries and Clint’s beaming smile, trying to memorize everything about the moment and bottle up the feeling of bliss that she feels coursing through her tired bones.

“A perfectly healthy boy,” Dr. Klein says and Laura can’t see her smile through her surgical mask but she can see the skin wrinkling around her eyes, indicating her happy expression. “And he matches a perfectly easy delivery. I have to hand it to you, Laura...aside from some heavy contractions, you really did wonderful work today. And you got lucky. Most women don’t deliver so easily.”

“Don’t tell me that, because it means the next one will automatically be worse,” Laura says wearily as a screaming and red-faced Cooper is placed into her arms. Clint’s immediately by her side, stroking her hair and putting large hands on Cooper’s tiny body, which is swaddled in warm baby blankets.

“Cooper Barton,” Laura says with a sniffle, kissing the baby’s head, marveling at everything miniature about the child she’s just birthed. She thinks that aside from Clint and the way she felt on her wedding day, she’s never felt more in love with another human being.

“No middle name,” Clint says softly. “I mean, we still can. If you want. If that’s something that’s important to you.”

Laura shakes her head. “I don’t care,” she whispers, kissing the baby as more tears splash onto his skin. “He’s perfect just the way he is.”

“Little hawk,” Clint adds and Laura laughs again as Clint presses his nose to her face.

They spend two days in the hospital before they’re more or less kicked out, and when they finally return home, Laura’s feeling both apprehensive and emotionally broken down, thanks to the real jolt that sets in once she realizes they’re fully on their own as parents.

“Stop,” Clint says as they climb the porch stairs, taking the baby carrier from Laura that holds a sleeping Cooper. He opens the door with one hand and brings him inside.

“Clint, what --”

Before she can answer, Clint’s grabbing her around the waist and lifting her into his arms, cradling her easily despite the fact she knows she’s still carrying most of her baby weight. When she turns her head to give him a look, he smiles wide and kisses her.

“Told you I’d make good on that promise of carrying you over the threshold after you gave birth,” he says as he walks inside, before putting her down carefully. “And I never break a promise to you.”

Laura’s parents insist on staying at the house at least on and off to help them acclimate to the strains and stresses of new parenthood, while Laura insists on Clint returning to the bar temporarily while he’s home.

“I dunno,” Clint says when Laura brings up the subject during breakfast. He looks down at Cooper who is nursing quietly. “I mean, I quit. I’m a SHIELD agent now. It seems a little strange. And we don’t really _need_ the money as much as we used to.”

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” Laura says, trying not to sound cross given that she knows she’s operating on a shorter fuse than usual due to her hormones and no sleep. “I’m not asking you to spend all day there. But my parents can take care of him when you’re away, and it’ll keep you busy.”

“I _am_ keeping busy,” Clint says a little annoyingly, gesturing towards his son.

“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe it’ll be good to keep yourself active,” Laura says with a small shrug. “And the shifts will work out so that maybe we can all trade off a little equally. Besides, he can’t exactly suck at _your_ breast.”

“So you’re giving me the graveyard shift? Way to be nice, Laur.”

“Excuse me,” Laura says sharply as Cooper starts to cry, clearly over the conversation as much as she feels she is. “ _You_ didn’t carry a child for nine months, experience contractions and back pain and hormone rage, or push him out of your body. I think I get to pull trump card on this one. And that trump card says _you_ get the graveyard shift.”

“I thought that trump card meant you were going to make me get you coffee every day,” Clint says as Laura bounces Cooper gently against her shoulder. Laura hums to herself.

“Now that you mention it, I’ve only had two cups today.”

Clint throws her a tired glance but leans over to kiss her and Cooper as he gets up, walking over to the drip machine and grabbing the biggest mug out of the cupboard.

“You’re a brat, Laura Nicole.”

“Takes one to know one, Clinton Francis.” She smiles wistfully as he brings over the cup and places it in front of her. “You know, I’m kind of regretting not giving him a proper middle name now. What’s going to happen when I inevitably need to yell at him once he pisses me off?”

“Hmmm.” Clint grabs his own mug and sits back down. “Is there another type of bird name that we can use, maybe? _Ow_ ,” he adds as Laura kicks him swiftly under the table. “I was kidding.”

“You weren’t,” Laura returns with a small sigh. Clint grins cheekily in a way that makes Laura’s heart swell, despite her annoyance. Cooper starts to cry again and Clint reaches for the baby, cradling him against his chest.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wasn’t.”

Laura knows what Clint’s told her about getting a full month and a half off before having to return to SHIELD at least temporarily, and between crying and nursing and no sleep, the first few weeks of Cooper’s life fly by quicker than Laura can cross off the gridded boxes on the butterfly calendar that hangs in their room. At some point, Laura blinks and it’s mid-May, the flowers that her mother had helped plant in the front of the house having bloomed quietly when no one was looking, with Cooper growing into something resembling an actual person rather than a small, miniature human.

“Do you know what today is?” Clint asks one morning when he walks into the bedroom, just as she’s starting to wake up. Laura stretches slowly, squinting as her eyes adjust to the light. Clint’s perched next to her with a grin, overgrown hair falling into his eyes, the start of a goatee shadowing his lips, the bags around his eyes heavy and pronounced. Laura opens her mouth to quietly chastise him about running himself into the ground, but then thinks better of it. It’s not like she can blame him for being exhausted thanks to working and taking care of a two month old.

“Another day where we’re both drowning in coffee because our son doesn’t know the meaning of go to sleep and shut up?”

“ _That_ would be a day ending in ‘y’,” Clint says with a smile, leaning over to kiss her. “Come on, Laur. It’s Mother’s Day. Your _first_ Mother’s Day, to be exact.”

Laura stares at him, for the first time realizing that the room smells like hints of blueberry, in addition to warm coffee. When she looks past Clint, she can see a tray carefully placed on the floor, her favorite mug and a stack of pancakes in the shape of lopsided hearts smothered in whipped cream, and a mimosa in a tall glass, all arranged in the nice kitchenware that her parents had bought for their wedding.

“What’s this?” Laura asks, unable to keep a grin from sliding onto her face. Clint grins back, looking bright and alert despite the tiredness Laura knows he’s barely keeping at bay.

“What does it look like?”

Laura glances down as Clint takes the tray and puts it on the bed. “I don’t know if I should be impressed you made breakfast while taking care of him, or impressed that you made breakfast and didn’t break anything. Or both.”

“Ouch,” Clint says in mock hurt. “In any case, we already ate.”

Laura finally brings herself awake enough to notice that in addition to the breakfast smells, the house is quiet, save for Clint’s low voice and the hum of the dryer down the hall.

“He’s really sleeping?”

“Yeah, I think breakfast tired him out,” Clint says apologetically. “But if he could talk, I’m sure he’d say, ‘thank you mommy for bringing me into the world.’”

Laura sighs. “He’d probably use his only words to ask me for more to eat,” she grumbles, but there’s a warmth spreading through her belly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” Clint says, getting up and crawling into bed, making sure not to knock anything off the tray. “But I wanted to. It’s your first Mother’s Day...and you deserved to remember it.”

“You’re not making me breakfast in bed ever again?” Laura asks jokingly, reaching for her fork so she can start to cut a piece of pancake. When Clint doesn’t answer with his trademark banter, she turns, surprised to find him holding out a small package that she’s missed him unearthing.

“A card would have been enough,” Laura says as she takes the package, being careful not to spill anything on the tray. Clint smiles slowly.

“Yeah, well...normally I’m not into the whole 'presents for every occasion' thing, but I thought this one was warranted.”

“You say that now, and soon you’ll be bringing him back presents every time you go away with this job and I’ll have to kill you,” she says as she removes the paper, allowing herself to gasp quietly when she sees what’s inside. It’s a small square-sized book with a pastel canvas cover that feels slightly rough against her fingers. Laura opens it and upon seeing the first photo -- a picture taken just days after she confirmed her pregnancy, because she remembers exactly what she was wearing when she sat at the kitchen table to research birthing procedures -- she makes a noise in the back of her throat.

“Where...how?”

Clint smiles. “Turns out I’ve got some spy skills after all,” he says. “And, well, your parents helped.”

Laura blinks back tears as she turns the pages, revealing photos which she realizes with a start chronicle most of her pregnancy, from the first few days of taking the test, to the ultrasound, to the months afterwards. There are multiple photos of Laura in different places and poses, some that she remembers and some that she doesn’t; there’s a photo of her frowning with a wine glass from the day they purged the house of alcohol, there’s a copy of Cooper’s sonogram and there are pictures of her sleeping on the couch or in their bed. There are pictures of her from their old apartment and a few photos from the new house, taken before Clint had left for SHIELD, and Laura’s stomach swells exponentially along with each page turn.

“Maybe one day we’ll have more,” Clint says and Laura realizes they’ve both fallen into a long silence. “But, you know, you only get one first baby, right? And it took us long enough. And I wanted to make sure you remembered what it felt like.”

Laura bites down on her lip as she closes the book gently, leaning over to kiss him. “Thank you,” she whispers against his cheek, rubbing her face against the stubble she normally would yell at him for growing, if she didn’t know that it was because shaving didn’t exactly take first priority anymore. Cooper starts to whimper from his bassinet, small pitiful cries that soon turn louder.

“Hawk’s awake,” Clint murmurs, nuzzling her cheek. Laura sighs.

“ _Hawk_ has a name,” she responds dryly as Clint gets up and rescues Cooper from his bassinet, cradling him in his arms. He sits back on the bed as Laura drinks more coffee, swaying Cooper back and forth and then eventually settles the baby against Laura’s chest, allowing Cooper to snuggle into his mother.

“Must be nice,” Clint muses, and Laura stares down at Cooper’s tiny body and the way he practically wraps himself into his mother’s hold.

“Hmmm?”

“Just, you know. Must be nice to be that innocent. To see all of this from his point of view, to look at the world through his eyes.”

“You wanna be a screaming, crying two month old?” Laura asks teasingly, and Clint half-smiles.

“I dunno. Sometimes I feel like it’s the way I was before I joined SHIELD. I had that kind of innocence, once. I didn’t really know what seeing the horrors of the world felt like. Now, it’s hard not to feel cynical about a lot of things.”

Laura swallows down an uncomfortable lump, because it feels like there’s almost certainly something Clint’s not saying. “Well.” She raises her voice slightly. “As long as you keep making bad dad jokes and changing diapers, I don’t think I have to worry about you.”

“Name one bad dad joke I’ve made since we brought him home,” Clint protests and Laura sighs.

“Clint. The other day you almost gave me a heart attack when you asked if I heard about a kidnapping and then said, ‘just kidding, he woke up.’”

“That was a good one!” Clint looks positively offended and Laura snorts.

“No wonder you have trouble socializing at work.”

“And this is why I keep you around,” Clint says, smiling despite Laura’s jab. “Because you keep my ego in check. And also, you tell me when I’m being dumb.”

“Well, I try.” Laura reaches for another bite of pancake and Cooper lets out a small mouthful of babbling.

“You do try,” Clint says as he leans over to kiss her. “And we are so lucky to have you.”

Laura kisses him back and her body fills itself with a feeling of contentment and pure love.

In the days that follow, as May gets longer, she tries not to look at the date that’s been circled with a big red marker, because every time she does, she feels painfully angry and upset. They don’t talk about the music they know they have to face until the night before Clint is actually set to leave, when Laura wakes up at four in the morning to loud, whining cries from the foot of the bed. Before she can get up and try to placate them, Clint’s twisting away from where he’s been buried into her chest and is rolling out of bed, picking up the small infant and rocking him in his arms.

“Hey, kiddo...hey, I got you. Daddy’s here. Come on, no crying tonight...let’s go take a walk.”

Laura closes her eyes as the door clicks shut and the baby’s cries get a little fainter, and she drifts off to Clint moving across the house. She’s surprised to wake up an hour or so later to both a quiet house and a still-empty bed, and after getting up and putting on her favorite silk robe, she comes downstairs to find the front door cracked open slightly, sending slivers of cool pre-dawn air and dusty light into the dark house. Clint’s sitting outside on the porch with his legs up, holding Cooper easily in his arms, and the baby’s breathing is deep and slow.

“Hey,” Laura says quietly, coming up behind him and stroking his hair, half curious and half concerned. “Is everything okay? Or have you decided to hold our son hostage?”

Clint bites his lip and shakes his head, exhaling loudly and, Laura thinks, sadly.

“I shouldn’t go back.”

Laura’s throat tightens and she swallows hard, continuing to pull gently at his hair. “Why?”

“Because,” Clint says, looking down at the infant in his arms. “This was a bad decision. All of it. I’m going to miss so much. He grows so much every day...sometimes I feel like even when I go to work and come home, he’s a different person. What’s going to happen when I go leave for days and weeks?”

Laura puts her lips together, trying to remind herself to breathe through the pain of his words. “Nothing will happen,” she says firmly. “I’ll make sure you see everything. Anyway, they’re giving you all that fancy tech so that we can keep in touch better, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “But I still won’t _be_ here.”

“You will,” Laura assures him. “And I’ll make sure you’re there for all of his firsts, and you’re going to come home as often as you can. You’re not leaving to chain yourself to work, remember?”

“I know, but…” He glances up with what Laura notices are terrified eyes. “My own dad was barely there for me. My mom was, but there’s stuff you remember as a kid, and --”

“And that doesn’t matter,” Laura interrupts. “He’ll _know_ you, Clint. He’ll know who you are and he’ll know that you’re his dad. I promise.” She can feel the way his shoulders are tensing, indicating his stress and apprehension, and moves her hands to his back to try to soothe his muscles and his fear.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes,” Laura says softly, working her hands gently over his body. “You can. Do it for me, Clint. Do it for him. Go be the hero that one day he’ll be _so_ proud of.”

“What about you?” Clint asks worriedly as Laura leans over and kisses the back of his neck.

“You’re _already_ the hero that I’m proud of,” she answers, looking at the way he’s holding his son. “You’ve been my hero since the first day we met. You already make me proud to love you every single day. Doing this...it just makes me love you more.”

Clint manages a smile that Laura can’t see until he tilts his head up, meeting her lips in a soft kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs as they break away, and Laura bends down to kiss him on top of his head.

“I love you, too,” she says softly. “Come on, let’s bring him inside.”

“No watching the sunrise today, huh?” Clint asks as he gets up slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby. Laura puts a hand against his back.

“Maybe after coffee,” she says with a small nod. “I want to just put him down in bed for a little bit, if we can.”

They walk inside together, Laura closing the door behind them as Clint climbs the stairs, and he places Cooper gently in the bassinet at the edge of the bed. Laura holds her breath as Cooper yawns, opening his tiny mouth and closing it multiple times, stretching out in his Iowa Hawkeye onesie with his arms splayed out over his head, but the baby continues to sleep soundly, even after Clint removes his arms from his body.

“A miracle,” Laura breathes once they step away. “I don’t know what it is, but you really have a way with him.”

Clint nods slowly, running a hand through his hair and Laura kisses him again, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Coffee now?”

“I’ll put a pot on,” Laura promises as she pulls away. “Go back to bed.” She leaves Clint in the bedroom as she walks back downstairs, figuring that it’s both early and late enough to warrant making a full pot, and busies herself with cleaning parts of the kitchen while waiting for the drip to finish. When she returns to the room, she finds Clint staring blankly at the calendar hanging on the inside of the huge closet, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Laura doesn’t have to wonder what he’s looking at, or what he’s thinking of.

She hesitates behind him, and finds herself thinking about the fact that this time tomorrow, things would be different. Clint wouldn’t be here to calm down his son, to pick Cooper up and walk him around the house when he cried; he wouldn’t be asking for or making the heavy coffee he likes so much, he wouldn’t be waking her up with the scratchiness of his half-grown beard or bad morning breath that smelled like a combination of coffee and stale alcohol from the bar. He would be miles and miles away, learning how to fight bad guys and training with a bow and arrow and filling out paperwork, and there would be no real kisses or hugs, only what they could offer each other over the phone until the next welcome break came. Her throat burns, and she suddenly realizes that she’s clutching the two mugs more tightly than she intends to.

Laura puts the mugs down and walks over to the dresser, opening a wooden box. She closes her fingers around a small object and then walks over to where Clint is still staring at the wall.

“Here,” she says, and Clint’s eyebrows knit together when he realizes she’s not handing him his coffee, but instead, his wedding ring.

“Laura?”

Laura takes a deep breath, letting it out through her nose. “You left it last time. The first time you went away. Don’t leave it again.”

Clint looks down, twirling the silver band slowly between his fingers. “I’d rather keep it here,” he says, looking up. “With you. SHIELD’s weird about personal stuff, and I don’t want to lose it. If anything happened…”

“Take it,” Laura says a little more strongly, reaching out to close his fingers over the ring. “Please, Clint. Just take it. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want people to know about us. Or if you think it’s unsafe, or if you think that it’ll get lost. But take it so that if something happens…” She stops, swallowing hard, trying to push the words out. “Things are changing for us. It’s not just about you and me anymore. And if something happens, I want to be able to recognize you.”

Clint looks up and meets her eyes, and for the first time, Laura notices the start of tears. He glances towards where Cooper is sleeping and then nods, slipping the ring back on his finger, before opening his arms and bringing Laura in close, letting her snuggle against him as he kisses the side of her head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

***

 

On paper, Natasha Romanoff is nothing. She has no past and no future, according to what Clint learns and what he’s been told. In person, however, she’s one of the most intense and intriguing people Clint’s ever met.

She’s brought in easily, and for all that Clint’s been worried, the mission is terribly benign. He stuns her with a tranquilizer arrow, making the shot with little issue, and when she wakes up strapped to a gurney in the quinjet and finally realizes where she is, Clint’s the first face he knows that she sees.

“Who are you?”

“Clint Barton.” He smiles, though she doesn’t return the sentiment. “I’m with SHIELD.”

She hisses -- legitimately _hisses_ , like a snake -- and Clint’s so taken aback that he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or be terrified. He elects to nod instead.

“I’m assuming that there are no false records and your name is actually Natalia Romanova, or Natasha Romanoff, as we’d call you here in America.”

She doesn’t answer and he takes that as a yes, glancing over her body as he sticks his headphones back on. She’s rail-thin with thick red hair that’s all different lengths, as if she’s either sheared it herself or never bothered to fix previous cuts. But somehow, even with the sickly appearance, she looks like she could take down ten men without blinking. Clint knows enough from her files, and even though he remembers that she’s only twenty-one, her eyes and face make her look older, something that Clint remembers seeing in faces of soldiers who had lived through a life of more than just war. Clint suspects that Natasha hasn’t just survived in a war zone, she’s also seen everything that comes with it -- including death, and possibly, at times, the inevitability of her own.

He knows that when they finally came face to face, she expected him to kill her -- in fact, she seemed to almost welcome it. But he thinks even if Fury hadn’t sent him to do a specific job, he wouldn’t and couldn’t have killed the girl in front of him, who looked at him with frightened eyes that seemed to beg _save me_ , deafened whispers of help hidden under years and years of masks that only showed hardness and anger and defiance to anyone that looked quickly. Clint tries to focus on the words droning through his eardrum; the audiobook he’s chosen is at least providing a good distraction for his thoughts, which are flitting somewhere between anxiousness over the girl in front of him and the heavy pain in his heart that makes him want to scream when he thinks about how much he misses his family.

“Alianovna,” she says softly, and he’s concentrating so much on his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear her.

“What?” Clint looks up, yanking the headphones out of his ears.

“My middle name. Alianovna. It’s not in the records.” She quiets after that and turns her head away, and Clint lets himself absorb the information he’s just been given, the gentleness that seemed to appear out of nowhere that makes him feel optimistic and worried at the same time.

In the days and weeks that follow, Clint pores over her files and spends hours locked in his room, drinking coffee straight from the pot and putting information together in pieces, trying to learn everything and anything he can about her life. He stops only to shift his focus to Cooper and Laura when he calls to check in, and he hates that he can’t tell his wife about what he’s really doing, because it’s unnerving and stressful but also because he knows Laura would have the most sound advice for how to get a former Russian assassin to talk.

“You’re coming home next week, right?” Laura asks after Cooper gurgles something that sounds vaguely like a burp into the phone.

“You better believe it,” says Clint. “Has he -- I didn’t miss anything yet, right?”

“Nothing big,” Laura answers. “He’s starting to smile a little bit, sometimes -- I think. It’s either that or gas. I can give you a call later before I put him to bed, it’s when he usually tries.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “If you don’t mind. I just -- you know --”

“I know,” Laura says gently, and Clint breathes out slowly. “How’s work?”

“Okay,” he says carefully, and he can practically see Laura’s skeptical face over the phone.

“You sound exhausted. What are they having you do over there?”

“Just, you know...training and meetings. It’s exhausting.” It’s also not a total lie, he knows, because he was still doing all of those things in between working with Natasha, and it _was_ taking a bit of a toll.

“More exhausting than being up every hour on the hour with a screaming four month old who I want to kill?”

“Sorry,” Clint says with a grimace and Laura groans.

“You should be. I love this child, I do, but I’m telling you -- he’s so much better when you’re around.”

“He’s a Barton,” Clint says with a small smile. “He’s going to cry and scream and make you miserable, and then when you least expect it, he’s going to turn around and give you this big, innocent, shit eating grin that’ll make you forgive him.”

“You mean like you?” Laura teases gently. “I hope they don’t work you too hard over there. One of us has to be semi-alive to take care of this demon child.”

“You said it, not me,” Clint says with a grin because while he loves his son, he’d also be the first to admit Cooper was the most difficult baby they could have gotten. For a long time, Laura simply rolled her eyes at the comments and admonished Clint for insulting his son, but Clint suspects those days are coming to an end. “Call me later?”

“I will,” Laura promises. “Love you.”

“Love you more.” Clint hangs up and then turns his attention back to the small pile on the floor which includes a few books, reports, and more than a few half-filled cups of coffee. He puts the coffee cups on the small desk in his room, picks up one of the books, and shuffles the reports together, glancing over them once more before he leaves to head down to where Natasha’s holding cell is located.

It’s a familiar path and an even more familiar ritual -- since Natasha had been brought in, they’d spent almost every night together, though progress had been slow enough that Clint still felt like he was getting nowhere, despite getting very cozy with her room code and most of her furniture. He’d at first been frustrated at Natasha’s inability to open up, but the more he visited her and the more he tried to get her to talk, he found himself starting to see their relationship as a challenge -- one that was a little dangerous and also, extremely interesting.

“What’s on the menu for today?” Clint asks cheerfully as he walks into the room, and Natasha glares at him.

“Why the hell do you always insist on treating me like nothing is wrong?”

Clint shrugs, ignoring her tone. “Because nothing _is_ wrong. I mean, yeah, you’ve done a bunch of bad things, but who hasn’t? And anyway, I’m willing to bet that you can change.”

Natasha snorts. “Sure, okay.” She eyes him, her gaze flitting to the book sticking out from underneath his arm, mixed in with the folder he’s also holding. “You got me a present, then?”

“Kind of.” Clint offers the book out. “It’s a present, but I didn’t buy it. It belongs to me. So I’d just appreciate if you didn’t deface it. Or, you know, use it to fashion a weapon or something,” he adds as an afterthought. Natasha’s eyes widen as she sees what he’s holding out, which is a tattered copy of _War and Peace_ , complete with a faded cover and dog-eared pages and a few coffee stains along the spine.

“Oh my _god_.” She looks up in disbelief. “Please tell me you didn’t get this for me just because it’s about Russia.”

“No, I actually got it because the main character is named Natasha,” Clint replies solemnly, and she looks up with daggers in her eyes.

“You’re actually serious,” she says after she holds his gaze for a long time, and Clint smiles.

“I am.” He assesses the situation for a moment and then grabs a chair, sitting down across from her. “Look, Natalia --”

“ _Natasha_ ,” she interrupts. “My name is _Natasha_.”

“Okay,” Clint says, because he’s honestly been wondering if it was better to try to appeal to the person she was before the Red Room, or the one she became. He files it away for future reference. “Natasha. Starting a book club would be nice, but the thing is, we’re going to have to get to know each other, you and me.”

“We don’t have to get to know _anything_ about each other,” Natasha responds bluntly. “And you have no idea what you did by giving me this book.”

“No?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me, then?”

Natasha shakes her head, and Clint detects something in her eyes that looks like fear, like he’s trying to poke at a bad memory. “I’m not telling you anything about my past just so you can add it to your little file and read up on how to make me your pet.”

Clint sighs and looks down at the folder in his hands, tossing it carelessly to the floor. “I don’t give a damn about your file, Natasha. I just want to talk to you, okay? About anything. Books, music, the murders you committed; hell, did you even have a real hair color before you were red? And why did you change your name to Natasha from Natalia, anyway? Was that a Red Room thing?”

Natasha remains silent, staring at her fingernails, and Clint resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay, look. My name is Clint Barton. Clinton, actually. I know, it’s terrible, spare me the groaning and teasing. I grew up in the Midwest and I used to be in the military, and then I became a bartender. My parents died and my brother kind of skipped out on me, so I’ve always been on my own, and it fucking sucks, right? My favorite color is blue and I have two left feet sometimes and I really, really like that crappy diner food everyone hates.”

“Anything else?” Natasha asks sarcastically when he stops talking, and Clint thinks for a moment before shrugging and sitting back.

“I wear a size XL, but not because I weigh a lot. Archery makes my shoulders really broad.”

Natasha looks up from her hands and stares at him and then laughs, actually _laughs,_ and Clint’s taken aback by both the reaction and the sound, the first time he’s seen her show any kind of emotion aside from deadpanning eye rolls. Her laugh isn’t normal, it sounds like a cross between something maniacal and something bitter mixed with a hint of danger, but Clint doesn’t care. For some reason, he’s not scared of her, not in the way he figures other people would probably be.

Natasha laughs and laughs and laughs until Clint thinks she’s just fucking with him, and when she finally sobers, she meets his gaze with hard eyes.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Natasha says bluntly, throwing the book to the floor so that it lands by the file. Clint notices she also glances at it afterwards, as if she’s afraid she’s made a mistake or regrets her actions, and the look is so fleeting he thinks that if he wasn’t starting to read her so well, he would miss it. “I’m not going to _make_ it easy, Agent Barton.”

“Oh, I know.” Clint leans forward, grinning playfully. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

 

***

 

In September, Clint gets called back to New York for three weeks, leaving Laura alone with Cooper at what she thinks might be the worst possible time. Cooper starts teething, and while Laura feels sympathetic to the discomfort of her six-month-old, she’s also starting to feel her patience grow shorter and shorter, to the point where she comes close to wanting to scream and cry right back into her baby’s face.

“I know,” Clint says when she calls, asking him to come home just a little bit earlier than his planned sabbatical. “I want to come back, Laur, but I need to take care of things here. I’ve got an important thing I’m working on.”

“What’s so important that you can’t let someone else handle it for awhile while you come home to family?” Laura asks suspiciously.

“Because this is a personal job,” Clint responds cryptically and Laura fights to keep herself from screaming.

“Well, personal job or not, there’s only so much I can do by myself,” she says shortly, bouncing Cooper in her right arm as he cries loudly. “I'm going to murder this baby if I have to continue to take care of it by myself. Your son and your wife are important, too, and it would be nice to have someone else here to help me through this, that’s all.”

“I know,” Clint says again, his voice full of disappointment, and Laura knows she’s using her anger to guilt him but she’s too annoyed to care. “Two days. I promise. I’ll get Fury to sign off on some personal time.”

“Why can’t you just come _home_?” Laura asks as Cooper tries to grab for the phone, small fingers swiping the receiver as Laura pulls her head away. “I don’t understand.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Clint’s voice has gone from disappointed to annoyed, and there’s sudden commotion in the background. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, but I _can’t_ right now.”

“Fine,” Laura answers curtly, hanging up before he can say anything else. She lets her own tears fall as Cooper continues to wail, and then finds the pacifier she’s invested in against her better judgement, which thankfully seems to calm him down enough so that she can calm _herself_ down enough to not feel like she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Then Laura calls her mom.

“You teethed for weeks, you know,” Elizabeth reveals after she’s helped Laura put Cooper down for a nap, his crying having tired him out. “I was hoping he would be a little easier on you.”

“He’s not,” Laura says bluntly, falling onto the couch, tears of exhaustion brimming at the corners of her eyes. Elizabeth sits down next to her, stroking her head and handing her a glass of tea infused with lavender flavor.

“I know you think everything is falling apart,” Elizabeth says gently. “But you’re doing fine, Laura-love.”

Laura shakes her head, glancing around at the messy living room, toys and bottles and articles of clothing strewn in every which direction. “I’m only doing fine half the time. I feel like a single mother, mostly.”

Laura’s mother raises an eyebrow. “And you think I didn’t? When your dad was gone during the first few years of your birth?”

Laura swallows down her emotions and leans back on the couch, while Elizabeth gets up and starts to clean around them.

“How did you do it?” Laura asks after a long pause, wishing she could remember her earlier years better than she knows she does. “With dad away. How…”

“You were a good child,” Elizabeth interrupts. “So that helped. But you were also difficult. I had a few friends around, people that we met on base who were willing to help out. But mostly, your grandmother was the one that was there for me.” She smiles. “Maybe it’s a generational thing, Foster women helping each other through their first children.”

Laura manages a smile through the start of tears. “Maybe,” she admits, letting her eyes stray to the door before she can stop herself. It’s unconscious more than anything else, she knows Clint’s not going to walk in anytime soon. She averts her eyes when she realizes what she’s doing, though not before her mother notices.

“You miss him.”

Laura nods, sighing quietly. “I get angry at him for going away,” she says. “I know he’s doing it because he wants to. I know he cares about Cooper. But when he’s not here and when I’m alone, there’s only so much I can take on my own. And then I get mad. But I miss him so much.”

Elizabeth gathers a bunch of toys in her arms, putting them in a pile by Cooper’s playpen. “I got mad at your dad a lot, especially when he missed one of your birthday parties.”

Laura feels her brow furrow. “I thought you said dad was sick for my second birthday. That’s why he wasn’t in the pictures.”

“Family secrets,” Elizabeth says tiredly. “He was stuck in D.C. and couldn’t get back in time. I yelled at him for...well, let’s just say we didn’t speak for a few days.”

Laura laughs quietly. “I can’t imagine you yelling at dad,” she admits. “Normally, it’s the other way around.”

“I can’t imagine Clint yelling at you,” Elizabeth points out, and Laura winces.

“He doesn’t. Not really. He gets angry sometimes and loses his temper, but mostly, it’s me doing the yelling,” she admits wryly. “It’s...hard.”

“It’s hard being a new mother and even harder when your husband is away because of his job,” Elizabeth agrees, and Laura suddenly wishes she could tell her mom everything, because she’s not used to keeping so many secrets. They had both agreed that with everything going on, it wasn’t the right time to explain to Laura’s parents what Clint was doing -- especially since Laura knew his job at SHIELD wasn’t something orthodox, or easily explained.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Laura looks up at her mother in surprise. “Do what?”

“This,” Elizabeth says, gesturing to what Laura knows is her messy house. “You don’t have to sit around feeling stressed and upset and alone. Maybe you should try to get out a little bit.”

Laura tries to smile. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get out and be social when I have a six month old baby who refuses to stop crying.”

“I would’ve said the same thing about you,” says Elizabeth. “But the moment I left the house and started realizing there was more to my life than bottles and naps and baby food, it made a difference, because I felt like I wasn’t so alone. And where we lived on the base, it wasn’t easy to make friends. You have an advantage. And neighbors, right?”

Laura nods slowly. “There’s a woman who lives next door,” she says. “Her name is Hannah, I think. She left a card and her number a few weeks ago, but I...I haven’t called her yet.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth asks simply and Laura suddenly feels like she’s sixteen years old again, asking to go out on a date or to the mall even though she knows she should stay at home and study.

“I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Because I’ve been lazy. Because I forgot. Because I didn’t think I needed anyone.”

“Well, that’s not acceptable,” Elizabeth says with all the finality Laura remembers from having to attempt to justify her actions as a slightly wild teenager with a thirst for adventure. Elizabeth nods towards her daughter. “Call her now. Invite her over for coffee. You don’t even have to leave the house. Besides, what would Clint say if he knew you were sitting here, refusing to be social and being upset like this?”

Laura closes her eyes briefly. “He’d tell me I’m not being myself, and he’d force me to go out. And then he’d make some dumb joke about how important I’m making him feel by revolving my life around him.”

Elizabeth smiles and picks up the phone, offering it to her daughter. “Call that friend,” she says again, her eyes gentle. “Mom’s orders. And if Cooper wakes up, I’ll take care of him for you.”

Laura smiles tentatively, takes the phone from her mom’s hand, and gets up off the couch.

 

***

 

By October, Natasha’s been officially embedded in SHIELD for close to nine months.

Clint’s not sure if he would call what they’re making _progress_ , but he does at least pat himself on the back about the fact that Natasha is becoming more open with him, and at least cooperating with him. He’s at first worried, especially with going home so often, that Fury or Coulson or even Hill will get tired of waiting for Natasha to become compliant and send Rumlow or May or someone else to take care of her in his stead. The prospect of losing anything about the relationship he’s built with Natasha startles him when he thinks about it, because he likes being at SHIELD, but he’s slowly starting to realize that when he’s working with Natasha, it feels like he has a purpose and a reason for being away from Laura and Cooper.

And most times, he instantly feels guilty when that thought occurs, because he hates feeling like Laura and Cooper aren’t enough of a reason to do his job. Although he knows Cooper won’t even have an idea of what Clint’s job is for at least another few years, the thought of being able to tell his son that he saved the world or helped put someone away is what makes him work harder, a reminder supplemented by the image of Laura’s smile, her face saying what she doesn’t need words for: that she’s eternally proud of him.

Clint sighs to himself as he closes his eyes, stretching out on the mattress. It would have made more sense, he knows, to go back to Brooklyn tonight, because he desperately needs a shower and actual food and a break from being around SHIELD so much. But his session with Natasha had gone longer than he’d expected and by the time he’d dropped her off back at her room, he’d found he’d only had energy to call Laura quickly and then brush his teeth and fall into bed. Clint turns over in the dark, trying to settle his mind, and that’s when two hands close around his throat.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening at first, and it takes him what feels like longer than a few seconds before the panic sets in as something tight and firm presses against his windpipe, effectively cutting off all of his air. Clint gasps helplessly, his eyes flying open, managing to take in a thin body and a mess of red curls. He pushes against Natasha, trying to get her to let up on her grip or at least realize what she’s doing, because the small part of his oxygen-deprived brain that’s _not_ panicking is telling him that this isn’t really her. Natasha’s hold is strong, though, and his retaliation only causes her to tighten her fingers as he thrashes violently, trying to wiggle unsuccessfully out of her grasp.

His vision darkens around the edges, a surrender pressing in on his body the same way her fingers are, and he somehow urges his arm to reach forward with the last of his strength so that he can grab the stunning arrow that he knows is hidden underneath his pillow -- one of the few weapons he keeps close out of habit, though he never imagined he’d need to actually protect himself like this at work. He flings it up blindly, praying it hits where it’s supposed to, and immediately doubles over in a coughing fit as air rushes back into his lungs. Natasha lets go of his throat and falls away from him and onto the floor.

For a moment, Clint can’t focus on anything except trying to breathe, as his lungs adjust to being able to pull in air again. After a moment, when he’s stopped drawing in ragged gasps that burn wildly, he stands up on shaking legs and steadies himself as he looks down at the body on the floor. Natasha’s lying on her side, the arrow jammed deeply against her forehead, her red hair staining the floor like spilled blood. Unarmed and no longer dangerously volatile, she looks small and unassuming, like a child who’s fallen asleep, like Clint’s seen Laura pass out on occasion, and it’s a sight that makes Clint feel violently ill.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, suppressing another harsh cough, because he knows he has to figure out what to do about this situation, and he also has no idea how he’s going to convince his superiors that Natasha doesn’t need to be locked in an underground bunker.  _This looks bad_.

He bends down and removes the arrow gently, not bothering to wonder if she’ll wake up -- he knows how his weapons work, and knows she’ll be out for a few hours, at most. In the end, he decides to call Medical, alerting them to the fact that Natasha had entered his room but then collapsed due to some unknown illness. He figures they probably see the marks on his neck but he’s also unconcerned, because he knows he can pass them off as sparring injuries.

Clint takes two days after Natasha’s attack to recover and sort out his thoughts, avoiding having the conversations that he knows are imminent, because as much as he’d like to ignore the whole thing, he can’t just lie to his boss and pretend that nothing happened -- especially if Natasha decided to go ahead and speak up about her actions. So he sits through the yelling that comes with Hill and Coulson and Fury being upset at what’s happened, stands his ground against her being removed from SHIELD entirely on the basis of proof from doctors that her triggers were being worked on, and on the fourth day after the attack he finally makes his way downstairs. She’s been returned to her regular room, though Clint knows that any contact beyond doctors and psychologists has been limited.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says softly when he enters, an apology Clint can tell is actually genuine. She’s clutching _War and Peace_ between her arms and sitting on the bed with her eyes downcast, looking meek and breakable and so unlike the harsh assassin he’s fought to break down over the past few months. It’s a sight that breaks his heart.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says as he steps inside fully and closes the door. “I’ve tested those arrows. I know that wasn’t exactly a fun experience.”

“Neither was trying to kill you,” she says softly. “You did what you had to do.” She finally raises her head so that he can see her eyes, which are rimmed red and match the color of her hair. “If you’ve come to tell me that you’re taking me back, I can leave now. We don’t have to wait.”

“Back?” Clint feels himself grow confused as he crosses the room. “Back where?”

“Where I came from,” Natasha says, her voice still quiet. “Where I can’t hurt anyone and get in trouble.”

Clint swallows against a throat that’s still healing. “We’re not taking you back. You’re probably going to be watched more closely for awhile, which is gonna suck. But you’re here to stay, Natasha.”

When she meets his eyes for real, he can see the watery film that catches in the overhead light. It surprises him, this vulnerability -- especially because he knows as well as she does that her attack hadn’t been her, not as much as it had been a reaction to a response she couldn’t and didn’t know how to control.

“I am?”

“Yes,” he says, sitting down next to her. She flinches, but she doesn’t move as he sinks down onto the bed. “Also, I have to give you credit. I didn’t think you could get into my room. Or that you even knew where my room _was_.”

Natasha looks embarrassed. “I followed you a few times. After dinner. One of the other agents took me out a few days ago so that I could go to the gym, and instead, I snuck off to find you. I was going to give you your book back.”

“You could’ve just snail mailed it,” Clint jokes but Natasha’s not smiling.

“I read that book after I killed someone. A long time ago, in Budapest.” She’s talking so quietly that he has to lean over to hear her. “I was going to tell you that. But I saw you sleeping and then...I don’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Clint says gently, deciding not to focus on her confession and instead on the situation at hand. He tries to imagine that he’s talking to Laura, or even Cooper. “I know about you and your past. You’re still trying to figure things out.”

“But I almost killed you,” Natasha says, her voice shaking. “I wouldn’t have even realized it. How is that _okay_?”

Clint puts his lips together, watching her close in on herself, like a flower that has the opportunity to bloom if it’s pushed hard enough but is refusing to open. “It’s not,” he admits. “But I’m willing to forgive you, if you can work with me. Because I want to help you, Natasha, and I won’t judge you, and I won’t give up on you. But the thing is, I can’t do it alone. So can you maybe work with me? And maybe not try to kill me in the process?”

Natasha bites her lip and shakes her head. “No,” she says after a moment. “I can’t say I won’t try to kill you.” She pauses, the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips. “But I can try to work with you.”

Clint smiles back, putting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. He feels breakable bones underneath his fingers; since coming to SHIELD she’d been nourished enough so that she finally looked like a normal person, but there were parts of her that he knew were still Red Room made, that might be for a long time.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” he says and Natasha looks up through a curtain of red hair, like she’s trying to watch him through a blast of flames.

“Thank you,” she says as he gets up from the bed. “For not killing me.”

 _Which time?_ Clint wants to ask, but he doesn’t. “You’re welcome,” he answers, before he leaves.

In retrospect, he knows it’s probably not the best idea to go to Fury so soon after all of this, but he also knows that if he doesn’t do it now when he has the leverage and the guts, he’ll never get his chance. And if Clint’s being honest with himself, he knows that he’s been thinking about asking to work exclusively with Natasha for a long time, longer than he would probably admit to. Despite her unwillingness to open up, Clint’s found that not only do they somehow complement each other, but that she’s also one of the only people at SHIELD he actually _enjoys_ being with, even if their interactions involve nothing other than having a frustrating conversation. Natasha was a challenge -- a project, in a way -- but Clint also knows that she’s more than that, and he’s pretty sure no one else in the organization would have enough sense to see her the same way. He turns down the hall and walks straight towards Fury’s office, knocking once on the door.

“Come in,” says his boss, and Clint enters slowly. Fury looks up in surprise.

“How are you feeling, Barton?”

“Um.” Clint clears his throat painfully. “Good, I think. Still a little sore.”

Fury nods. “You should attempt to rest your voice, if you can. Not talking will help you recover faster.” He sits back in his chair, eyeing him. “But I know you’re here to talk.”

“Yeah.” Clint takes a deep breath that burns. “Listen, uh. Awhile ago, you said...you said after I got into SHIELD, I could talk to you if I wanted a partner.”

“Yes,” says Fury, his words carefully measured. “I did.”

“Well.” Clint stops and exhales slowly, going over the words in his brain before he says them out loud. “I think I do want a partner. I want Romanoff.”

Fury’s demeanor, which has been bordering on casual and lazy, suddenly changes and he sits forward sharply. “Barton, are you out of your goddamn mind? She just tried to kill you!”

“ _Tried_ ,” Clint repeats, wincing as he swallows again. “She clearly didn’t succeed. And I just came from visiting her, and believe it or not, she’s remorseful about it. _Sincerely_ remorseful. It was a trigger, sir. It wasn’t actually her.”

Fury barks out a laugh. “I knew you were willing to look the other way when it came to giving people a chance, Barton. But this kind of request defies anything I ever thought about you.”

“Does it?” Clint asks, crossing his arms, suddenly just as angry. “ _You’re_ the reason why I’m sitting here to begin with, and the reason why I’ve been spending all this time trying to help her when I could be focusing on other assignments, or on my damn family. _You’re_ the one who put me on this mission in the first place. _You_ sent me out before I had barely any training because you thought I was the best person to bring this girl in, you had me lie to my wife about it, and sure, we’ve been making slow progress but what _else_ do you expect from someone who was basically brainwashed for a living?”

Fury sits silently through all of Clint’s words, and then sighs. “A partner.”

“A trial run,” Clint clarifies. “If that makes it any better. Don’t make her my partner officially or anything, but have us work together exclusively on assignments, no matter how big or small they are. When we have to be sent out, send us out together, and let me show her how to handle herself in the field. Let me build up this trust, sir. Please.”

Fury falls silent once more and then looks at Clint for a long time, until Clint feels acutely uncomfortable, like he’s back in the field waiting for his discharge papers all over again. “This isn’t a decision I’m green lighting today, for many reasons,” Fury says finally. “Give me some time to think and talk this over. And give her some time to level out.”

Clint nods slowly, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and then backs away towards the door. Although he hasn’t been formally dismissed he leaves anyway, suddenly overcome with the need to be alone. He’s halfway back to his room when a cold voice stops him in his tracks.

“Barton.”

Clint turns around in surprise to see Melinda May walking towards him. “Agent May?”

May closes the distance between them, looking him up and down. “I heard what happened with Romanoff.”

“Oh.” Clint nods, watching May’s eyes stray to his throat. The bruises are fading, he knows, but the marks are still there and still decently visible. “Yeah, well. It happens.”

May raises an eyebrow that arches into a perfect half moon. “If you’re free and want to join me, I’m heading out to grab a drink before dinner.”

Clint double takes, because it’s the first time that May’s willingly asked him to do anything that’s not spar or file a report, and also because it’s the first time anyone outside of Rumlow has attempted to be social with him.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Okay.” He turns on his heel and follows May down the halls, taking the elevator to the ground floor, walking in silence behind her until they’re out of the building and settled into the bar down the block from SHIELD’s offices.

“I’m surprised,” May says dryly as they slide into a booth. It’s the middle of the day, quiet, and there are only a few people in the restaurant, most of whom are having a late lunch. “You’re normally all about the small talk, or the insults.”

“I’m surprised, too,” Clint answers. “You normally want to kick my ass, not buy me a drink.”

May smiles faintly. “I think I’ve kicked your ass enough that you deserve one on me,” she says pointedly, before gesturing to the two menus left out on the table. “Beer? Wine? Something harder?”

Clint thinks for a moment, weighing his options against his still healing throat, tiredness, and the time of day. “Whiskey, I guess. On the rocks.”

May nods, getting up and walking over to the bar. After a few moments, she returns with two glasses and shoves the one filled with amber-colored liquid across the table gently.

“To your new partnership,” she says casually as she drinks and Clint almost spills his whiskey all over his pants.

“What?”

May smiles again. “I heard you talking to Fury. You want to work with the Romanoff girl.”

“I want --” Clint realizes he’s gone defensive out of habit, trying to refute her words, and then stops, laughing quietly. “Yeah,” he admits, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I want to work with her, but...I dunno. I don’t think it’s gonna happen. No one around here trusts her.”

May looks at him for a long time, her eyes raking over his body. “Do _you_ trust her?”

Clint nods. “I -- that’s crazy, right? To say I trust her? I mean, she basically tried to kill me.”

“You said yourself that she didn’t,” May responds. “And that it wasn’t her, but her triggers that she couldn’t control. Talk to me, Barton. You don’t seem like the type of people we normally get in here.”

“Yeah?” Clint tries to smile, because he can’t help it -- the fact that partnership with Natasha seems bleak has caused him to feel more disappointed than he wants to admit. “What do you mean?”

“You have heart,” May says simply. “Most people that come to this organization come in like Rumlow -- cold, distant, tactical. Or they come in like her, having lived a tough life that they’re attempting to turn around, now that they have the right resources.” She pauses. “You have the military background and the tactical smarts, obviously. But you also come from a family, and from a life that allows you to know and understand what it means to have compassion. You see the lives of people that are hidden underneath the walls they build for themselves, and you recognize there’s more to them than just a body. And so no matter what they’ve done or how they’ve treated you, you try to give them a chance.”

Clint looks down at his drink. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” he says uncertainly and to his surprise, May nods and smiles.

“It’s good,” she confirms. “Or it will be, eventually, even if you don’t see it yet. I’ve been around the block, Barton, and I can tell you that sometimes, it’s people like you who make the greatest agents and the greatest difference in the world.”

Clint winces. “I don’t know if I _want_ to be the greatest agent,” he responds, thinking of Laura and of Cooper. “I just want to be enough. For myself, for SHIELD, for the people I save...I just want to be someone my son and my wife can be proud of.”

“Do you want to be enough for _her_?” May asks quietly, in a tone more gentle than Clint thinks he’s ever heard. He takes a moment to consider his response before he answers.

“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “I do.”

May reaches out and puts her hand on his palm. “Then don’t give up on Natasha. Because if you do, no one else will care enough. And you’re right, Barton.” She pauses and takes another long drink. “She _does_ deserve to be saved. But you’re the only one who can and will give her that chance.”

Clint smiles weakly, swirling his drink around. “You’re not just fucking with me, right? Trying to reverse psychology me or something because that’s what you guys do here to build up morale?”

“I’d never joke about giving people a second chance,” May says firmly, her face neutral and determined all at once. “Ever.”

There’s something in May’s eyes that makes Clint realize she’s not kidding, and that the reasoning behind her words is probably more important than he’ll ever be allowed to know.

“Yeah,” he says, knocking back the rest of his whiskey, because he suddenly understands what she means. “Me neither.”

 

***

 

When Clint finally returns home again at the beginning of November, it’s three in the morning and the house is mercifully quiet. Clint takes off his shoes and leaves half his stuff in the foyer, before going upstairs and stopping in the bathroom to wash his hands and face, which feel sticky and dirty. When he makes it to the bedroom, he finds Laura asleep, the covers bunched around her chin like that of a child.

He stands over her for a moment, watching her sleep, realizing how content she looks with her eyes closed and deep in rest -- the lines around her mouth are slack instead of taut, and there’s a hint of a smile where her lips tug upwards on one side, as if she’s dreaming about something that puts her mind at ease. He idly wonders if Cooper is starting to sleep better and breathes in deeply, taking in the silence of the room and the smell of still-strong coffee left out by the bed, taking notice of the way her chestnut stained hair is obscuring her eyes. His heart swells with love and affection until it feels like it’s going to burst, until it feels like it’s going to spill open in front of her like an overflowing box, and he’s reminded with a rush of emotion about everything he’s missed at home.

“Watching someone sleep is creepy,” Laura mumbles and Clint smiles, leaning over to kiss her as her eyes flutter open. Whether she’s heard him come in or whether she’s just had a feeling, he’s not surprised she knows that he’s here.

“I know.” He shrugs off his jacket and climbs into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her body. “But _holding_ you isn’t creepy.”

“Mmm.” Laura smiles sleepily and Clint thumbs back her hair, which is falling into her mouth. “How was your trip?”

“Fine,” Clint says, stretching out and making himself comfortable despite still being fully dressed. “Getting real familiar with the air traffic control patterns between here and New York.”

Laura grunts with her eyes closed. “I expect pictures next time. Especially of the cornfields.”

“Done.” He settles into the pillow, relishing the atmosphere of home, everything from his wife’s breathing patterns to the overwhelming scent of floral lacing the pillow case thanks to Laura’s body lotion. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and then --

Clint opens his eyes as the sound of enthusiastic babbling fills the room, filtering through the baby monitor next to the bed.

“Leave it,” Laura mutters, shoving a hand against Clint’s arm as he starts to move. “Once he wakes up, he thinks any time of day is playtime.”

“Well, someone needs to tell him that mommy and daddy don’t approve,” Clint says, turning over to block out the sound.

“Someone _has_ tried, but he doesn’t exactly listen,” Laura mumbles. “Just ignore him. He’ll amuse himself for a bit.”

He will, Clint realizes, but he's also already mostly awake from traveling and even with finally being home, he knows that he’s not going to get any sleep with the distraction of the extra noise.

“I’ll take care of him,” he says as he sits up and Laura cracks open an eye, coming a little more awake at his words.

“You sure?”

Clint smiles because Laura’s voice is groggy and her eyes are already drooping closed again. “Yes,” he answers. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in eventually.”

Laura nods slowly, snuggling into the pillow. “Love you,” she breathes, and Clint leans down to kiss her, running his hands through her hair once more.

“Love you, too.”

He gets out of bed and stretches a little, and then walks into the room that holds Cooper’s crib. The baby is standing up, tiny fingers grasping the rails, balancing himself as he babbles incoherently, a wide smile stretching over his heart-shaped face.

“Hey, kiddo. What are you doing up?”

He knows the baby won’t and can’t answer but he asks the question anyway as he stops in front of the crib, and Cooper stares at him with big, wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Clint says, leaning over so that he’s almost eye level. “Not tired, right? I know the feeling. Daddy’s been up for a long time but he can’t sleep, either.” He stops talking and stares at his son, at the way his lips stretch wide, the expression filling out his still chubby cheeks. “You’re smiling a lot more now, aren’t you? Big change from a few months ago. I guess mommy’s right and you _are_ working on your charm.”

Cooper makes more noises in response, his small face barely peeking over the rail of the crib, and Clint sighs. “I missed you. I know I was away for a long time. Daddy doesn’t like being away from you so much, because he misses things. You weren’t standing before. But you’re gonna be a little race car, aren’t you? Gonna drive your mom and I crazy and make us worry when you start to walk? Or maybe you’ll just use your charm to make all the girls at school date you. Speaking of dating, none of that until you’re at least twenty. Maybe even thirty. All those girls are going to be vetted by a SHIELD agent and I’m even gonna do background checks, so don’t go hooking up with people like I did when I was a kid, okay?”

Cooper’s smile grows bigger, as if he maybe understands what Clint’s saying.

“See this?” Clint takes a small photo from his back pocket and holds it out, while Cooper uses a free hand to swat at the picture. “That’s Natasha. She’s my partner. Well, she will be, hopefully. And one day I’m going to tell her about you and one day you’re gonna be friends, maybe. If she ever stops hurting me. We’re gonna have a lot of fun chasing bad guys together. You’ll like Natasha. She’s nice, like your mommy. Well, different than your mommy, but I think she’d like you. Right Coop? You’re pretty hard not to love. I mean, I’m biased, but still. I did help make you. And it took a lot of tries, but I think you’re worth it.”

Cooper looks at his dad quizzically and Clint laughs to himself.

“Yeah, I know you have no idea what I’m saying. But one day, daddy’s going to tell you all about what he does for his job. About how he saves people and tries to make the world a better place for you, because you need to have the best future, because mommy and I would do anything to give you a good life. And one day, you’ll probably have a little brother or sister that you can show the world to. As long as your mommy can handle giving up alcohol and coffee again. And maybe one day daddy will even save the world for you, but maybe one day he’ll just teach you how to make really good coffee.” He kisses Cooper on the head and when he leans over, he notices the pacifier lying in the crib, the one presumably dropped when Cooper started talking. Clint picks it up and holds it out, and Cooper eagerly accepts the object in his mouth, becoming silent.

 _You’re welcome, Laur_ , he thinks as he watches his son, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Clint since he walked into the room. He tries to memorize as much as he can about Cooper’s features, his small nose and his smile and the way his light hair is beginning to curl at the back of his head, like a mullet. There are pictures, he knows, and there will continue to be. He’s seen the growth of his baby happen before his eyes, but not all of it was in the moment, and it’s the only thing about this life that he hates.

“You know that no matter what, I’ll always come home, right? I’ll always keep you safe, and I’ll always be there for you, because you’re my little boy. You’re my little hawk. Remind me to explain that to you one day, I swear that wasn’t intentional. And mommy will make sure we’re always around so that we can give you all the love you need. And grandma and grandpa and maybe one day even Natasha...and I’ll always be right here, I promise.” Clint looks at Cooper, at the face that seems to say everything while also saying nothing, and he suddenly knows he’s never felt more certain of anything else in his entire life.

“I promise that I’ll make sure that you’ll never have to be alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are in the home stretch, with only a few chapters to go! (I make no apologies for the fact the last two chapters of this will probably be terribly compromising in terms of feelings.) Thank you for all your comments, support, Tumblr messages -- your reactions and feelings give me the fuel to write.
> 
> While the aim is still to have this finished by the time Civil War is released, I've shifted my outline a bit since most international folk will get the movie well before we do in the U.S. -- therefore, chapters may come earlier or later depending on how my writing process goes. While I don't want to leave this world behind (I really, _really_ don't), the intent has always been to be able to go into the next movie having told as much of this story as I can from then to now, so that I can (hopefully) continue this with whatever happens after, and so that anyone reading can feel like they got a complete story to add to whatever we get next.
> 
> Come find me and my OT3 flails on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com)!


	18. 2011: Part II

As a child, Natalia Romanova spent a lot of time thinking about death. From her first few days in the Red Room, the word hung over her like a curtain, never actually spoken out loud but whispered between her teachers and her classmates. The word lurked in every shadowy corner, in every brutal test that she failed to pass, in every girl that woke up and then was carried out underneath a white sheet before dinner.

Natalia grew up with death and learned not to fear it, no matter how close it came to holding her hand and pulling her into the abyss. As she got older, and as she started to kill people with her own hands and by her own devices, she often found herself wondering what it would be like to disappear. She would take missions in Khartoum, hiding out in a dust storm with a face half-covered in make-shift cloth, and dream of being swallowed up by the sand, enveloped in a thick, heavy blanket as Mother Nature literally pushed down on her, stomping her easily into the ground underneath her large booted foot. She would infiltrate cruise ships and during breaks in the journey, submerge herself under the water holding her breath until she almost didn’t care anymore, and wonder if the slow burn of drowning as the water filled her lungs would feel anything like the flames that licked her skin as a child, when her hand was forced onto burning hot plates and cigarettes were put out on her arm. She would stand at the tip of the Burj Khalifa after a stake out, wind pulling at the long strands of her blonde wig, staring up at the sky and wondering how fast the ground would rush up to meet her if she fell, or if the clouds that seemed just within her reach would catch her and cradle her in a descent that would end in peace.

 _We do not fear death,_ Ivan had told her and all of his students. _Death is how we survive. Only cowards fear their own mortality. You are already dead, and you are stronger in death than you will be in life_. And yet, Ivan would still turn around to Natalia -- Natalia, the crown jewel of Ivan, the one who was even better than Oksana, the girl who could kill with bare hands -- and would chastise her for her thoughts, calling it all a fascination. _You look for chaos, Natalia, and you flirt with things you cannot control. You cannot control the world_.

Ivan never understood that to Natalia, it wasn’t a fascination or a fixation as much as it was a learned acceptance. Because Natalia wanted to survive, but she was also tempted by death, if only because death was the only constant in her life for a long, long time. And when Clint Barton came to find her, and when she stood on the other end of his arrow, patient and resigned, she was closer than ever to disappearing for good into the void.

It’s fitting, Natasha thinks as she enters the small cafe in Soho, that her fixation with death would end up leading her to death itself, or maybe that’s what Ivan always warned her about and she had never realized it. _You look for chaos, Natalia_. She spies the tall woman in the corner almost as soon as she walks inside, the one who has sequestered herself away from the crowds and is sitting ramrod straight, sipping her coffee with all the carefulness of someone who was taught to live in a world more elegant and dangerous than this one.

“It has been a long time, Natalia.” Dottie smiles as Natasha removes her sunglasses, and Natasha smiles back grimly, looking down at the cappuccino sitting in front of her, the one her companion had presumably ordered before her arrival.

“To be honest, I never thought I’d be having coffee with or getting advice from a former Red Room operative. At least, not without one of us wanting to kill each other.”

Dottie laughs quietly, the silver bangles on her wrists singing quiet songs amidst the din of the coffee shop as she sips her drink. Natasha notices that her hair is perfectly coiled in thick, licorice curls, her business suit crisp and her lipstick red and bright, the very image of an old photograph come to life. It amazes Natasha that she looks the same as she did dozens of years ago, a byproduct, she knows, of the bastardized serum that was given to girls in the 40’s before it was taken away by the government and then discarded in favor of more natural means of training, as the Red Room and its recruitment methods evolved.

“You’re here on SHIELD business, I assume,” Dottie says, watching her carefully. “Why did you seek me out? You know that I am no longer the person that I was.”

“Neither am I,” Natasha responds, picking up her cup. “This isn’t about a job, though. Or revenge. This is…” She hesitates. “I wanted to talk to someone like you.”

Dottie regards her carefully. “I am not sure what you mean by that. You and I were never meant for girl talk, Natalia.”

“We were not meant for a lot of things that weren’t poisoning drinks or killing each other,” Natasha reminds her. “But we were us, once. We were things. We were Ivan’s children.”

Dottie hesitates. “I was never Ivan’s child the way you were,” she says, almost resignedly. “I remember hearing about you after I fled the Red Room, when they built it back up. Little Natalia Alianovna, snatched from her parents’ bed in the middle of the night as she lay dreaming of the stars. The girl who was so scared but grew up to be a legend, taking on the infamous Black Widow mantle and owning it like no one else ever had.”

“It wasn’t as idealistic as the stories make it seem,” Natasha says bitterly, shuddering a little as the memories roll through her. “I’m realizing that now. And I’m trying to learn about things I was never given the chance to experience, things I _want_ but don’t know how to accept, even when I think I’m changing enough to be okay with them.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Dottie shifts her gaze, a carefully crafted brow furrow that barely changes her features. “You fell for him,” Dottie surmises after a beat. “Your partner that you work with.”

Natasha winces. “I...fell for more than just him,” she says quietly, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup as if it’s a throat or an arm she can squeeze the life out of, a tangible, comforting hold. Dottie smiles delightedly and in a mere instant, she looks exactly like the assassin Natasha remembers watching videos of years ago while locked in a cold, dark room.

“Well, well. Natalia!”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Natasha says, suddenly feeling tired. “You know that kissing girls wasn’t exactly taboo in the Red Room.”

“But _falling_ for one is different,” Dottie points out wisely. “You know as well as I do that you risk death when you open your heart, Natalia.”

“And yet I was taught that death should be my best friend,” Natasha muses. “So what does that make me, if I pursue something that I once wanted to get so close to? A fool? Or someone who finally understands what it means to take risks when it comes to having emotions?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Dottie says, and Natasha notices she sounds a little sad. “I have never had the opportunity to think about such things. The people I’ve known have never allowed me to open my heart the way you seem to have allowed yourself to open up with these people.”

Natasha looks down at the table, taking a long drink and feeling the hot coffee burn its way down her throat. “Do you ever get tired?” she asks curiously. “Of running? Of trying to figure out who you should be?”

Dottie purses her lips. “I am tired of running,” she admits, nodding slowly. “But I haven’t run for a long time. The world is different, now.”

“But you still exist in it,” Natasha points out. “And I’m sure if you didn’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Dottie smiles halfheartedly. “It’s not that simple,” she says after a pause. “I exist in it because I don’t have any place else to go. I could tempt death, if I wanted to. I have on more than one occasion. But I don’t know if I’m quite ready to give up on the world, not when it changes so much every day.” She lets her eyes drift to the windows of the cafe, the huge, floor-to-ceiling glass panes that shower them in afternoon sunlight. “Anyway, there is someone, now. A nice man. He has money, and he takes care of me. He only cares about the superficial things, and he never stops to wonder about my life, or ask about my past. But he gives me what I need and want so that I can keep surviving.”

Natasha frowns, wrapping two hands around her cup in a prayer. “That doesn’t sound very personal,” she says finally and Dottie shrugs placidly.

“It is all I need,” she responds firmly, but Natasha notices her voice sounds a little too sharp, as if she’s trying to convince herself of her own words. “Do the people you fall for treat _you_ like more than just an object? Do they know about your past?”

Natasha falls quiet, looking down at the table. She knows there’s an easy answer to Dottie’s question that will allow her to avoid actually answering, and it’s the fact that unlike Dottie, she’s not close to a hundred years old and she doesn’t need to lie about where she came from because it would be strange otherwise. But she finds herself thinking about Laura and the ring, about Clint and Fury and Hill, about Lila and Cooper and the farm and everything that came with the quiet lifestyle she’s allowed herself to fall into.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “They know everything. My past...the Red Room...the people I tried to kill, the brainwashing, the crimes I committed. They know all of it.”

“I see.” Dottie’s voice is laced with surprise. “And they still allow you to fall for them?”

 _Somehow_ , Natasha thinks, smiling out of instinct, because sometimes she still doesn’t know how she got so lucky to walk into a life where two people not only forgave her for a ledger of red, but gently helped her wash each lingering spot of crimson out of her skin with love and care and affection and trust. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I...for a long time, I didn’t know why. We’re not people who are made to be loved.”

“No,” Dottie agrees. “We are not. But we were never made to survive, either.”

Natasha considers this response as Dottie gets up, placing a twenty dollar bill on the table and putting her cold fingers on Natasha’s shoulder. She fights a shudder at the icy chill that shoots through her body -- Dottie was no longer an assassin the same way Natasha was no longer an assassin, but, like Natasha, there were parts of her that still clung too tightly to the girl that was made by other hands.

“I do hope you enjoy the life that you have, Natalia,” Dottie says softly, and her voice is sincere and gentle. “Perhaps we will see each other in another fifty years.”

Natasha laughs quietly, unable to help the response. “Perhaps,” she agrees, looking up at the woman who was once made of metal and seeing herself reflected in the coy smile. “Goodbye, Dottie.”

Dottie smiles back, gleaming wolf’s teeth set against blood-stained lips. “Goodbye, Natalia.”

 

***

 

Clint comes home from New Mexico two weeks after Natasha leaves the farm, and the ring.

Physically, he looks fine, especially given how long he’s been away, but Laura can tell from the way he talks and the way he moves that he’s exhausted, especially when he seems like he’s pushing himself to be more active than usual around the kids. Ultimately, she’s not surprised when he falls into a spiral of a bad cold that leads to the flu, though on the scale of things Clint’s come home with since he started at SHIELD, Laura’s pretty sure throwing up all over the kitchen table _and_ the couch ranks on the lower end of annoyances.

“Dare I ask what they had you do over there?” Laura asks as she brings him a bowl of chicken soup, which he makes a face at. “I’ve never seen you so run down.”

“Nothing,” he groans from the bed. “But I was constantly up for hours, all night, with no sleep. In the rain and cold and the fucking desert. My immune system hates me.”

“Maybe you’re getting old,” Laura teases gently, pushing back his hair. “You used to come home from missions on a whim and then you’d do housework and we’d have really intense sex and you’d fly back in a day.”

Clint closes his eyes as Laura puts the bowl down on the bedside table. “That’s not nice,” he grumbles. “And if you think I’m eating that, no way.”

“Stop being a baby,” Laura says impatiently, because she’s done her share of coddling and sympathy since he first got sick. “If you don’t eat, you’ll get dehydrated, and I’ll be forced to take you to the hospital because Natasha’s not here to fashion an IV and stick it in your wrist.”

“There’s a threat,” Clint mutters. “You really want me to throw up on you again?”

Laura smiles, produces a pink basin in the shape of a half-moon, and puts it on his knees. “Not _on_ me, no.”

Clint sighs heavily and grudgingly picks up the spoon, forcing a few mouthfuls of chicken soup down his throat. It’s a lost cause because five minutes later, he’s spitting it back up into the basin that Laura holds out, because she’s become in tune enough with his body to at least know when he’s going to puke.

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t travel,” she says after he leans back in bed, picking up a wet towel and wiping it over his face. “Dealing with you is bad enough.”

Clint smiles weakly. “Um. About that…”

“ _Clint_ ,” Laura warns, and Clint grunts before trying to eat again.

“What was I supposed to do, not stop her from crying when you were in the shower?”

Two days later, Laura’s worst fears are confirmed when Lila wakes up in the middle of the night crying, before throwing up all over her pajamas. Laura sends Cooper to stay with her parents for a few days in an attempt to not have her entire family falling apart at her feet, and finds herself wishing for Natasha more than ever. She’d never felt like she’d taken advantage of the other girl in the sense that having another hand was helpful, but she’s suddenly realizing how overwhelmed she feels trying to do _everything_ on her own, and how much she could use a shoulder to lean on that’s different than Clint’s.

“Want me to call Nat?” Clint asks after he helps clean Lila up. He’s nowhere near better, but the stomach flu part of his bug is gone, and Laura’s allowed him to help out around the house as long as he promises to keep mainlining water and juice.

Laura bounces the crying baby gently, stroking her head and handing her the small square pillow she’d sewn a few months earlier, a patchwork of Clint’s old flannel shirts that she decided to make for her daughter so she would have something of her dad’s to hold onto while he was away. “You know as well as I do that she’s away right now. Russia, remember?”

“She’s in New York, first,” Clint says. “And she’s not going to Russia for awhile. Not sure why they wanted her back so quickly...I got the reports.”

Laura’s heart beats a little faster, and she forces herself to focus on Lila. “She won’t come,” she says, kissing the baby. “Besides, do you want her to get sick, too?”

“Nat?” Clint looks surprised. “Her immune system is like an ox, Laur. She rarely gets sick. Unless it’s by some strange poison or something.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Laura says as Lila starts to point to her bed again, a wordless request for what she can’t say. “And the last thing I need is another person to take care of. Go rest, Clint. God knows she’s not going to.”

Clint gives her a look but leaves the room, and Laura sighs quietly as Lila rubs at her eyes with one hand, the other clutching the pillow securely to her chest.

“Let’s get you medicine, okay Lila baby?”

“Na-na,” Lila responds, clinging to Laura, and Laura feels her eyes start to burn.

“Yeah, you miss your Aunt Nat?” She kisses the baby’s head. “I do, too. Mommy made a mistake, though...and now mommy has to figure out how to fix it so Aunt Nat can come back and take care of you. And me.” She walks into the bathroom and roots around for children’s Tylenol, while Lila continues to fuss -- though she thankfully manages to keep the medication down once Laura administers it.

“I need to talk to you,” Laura says once she’s finally gotten Lila to sleep. Clint eyes her clothes, which she knows are dirty and sweaty and smell of vomit.

“You sure you don’t want to shower first? I’m not really a fan of living on the edge unless I have to.”

Laura considers the question, realizing how grimy and gross she actually feels now that she’s allowed herself to stop moving. “Fine,” she says, nodding towards Lila’s room. “Just watch her, okay? I’m not convinced she’s actually sleeping long enough to not throw up on someone or something again.”

Clint nods and Laura retreats to the bathroom, suddenly glad for both the distraction and chance to make herself feel like she’s not drowning in stress and sickness. She showers quickly, letting the hot water revive her, and scrubs herself down more than once before she gets out of the shower, her skin radiating pink from both aggression and heat and a hint of the strawberry body wash she’s lathered over her body.

“She’s good,” Clint says when Laura walks back into the bedroom, toweling off her hair, having changed into one of Clint’s workout shirts. “For now. Puke meter is down to zero.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Laura says tiredly, sitting down on the bed and Clint meets her eyes.

“So, you said we needed to talk.”

Laura looks down at her wedding ring, finding that her breath catches in her throat, as if it’s attempting to choke her. “We do,” she manages. “About Natasha.”

“Okay,” Clint says slowly, his voice steeped in confusion. “What about Natasha?”

Laura runs her tongue over her teeth. “While you were away, I...we…” She swallows as Clint puts his hand on her knee. “I kind of...gave her a ring.”

Clint jerks his hand back and turns to Laura with wide eyes. “You did _what_?”

“I gave her a ring,” Laura repeats miserably. “Or I tried to. I thought...I don’t know, Clint. I thought that maybe now that she was so comfortable here, with Lila, with us, maybe it would help her feel like she belonged. We went to dinner and after we came home, I tried to give it to her and she...kind of freaked out.”

Clint shakes his head, and Laura’s not sure whether the paleness of his face is from her words or because he’s still recovering from his sickness. “Of course she freaked out. I mean, she wanted to take it slow with us.”

“We’ve been taking it slow for years!” Laura retorts, her eyes watering against her will. “I _love_ her, Clint, and she loves us. I know she does. She’s practically a second mother to our kids. Literally the only thing keeping her from being with us and being a part of this family every day is the fact that she doesn’t live here, and the fact that we’re not married.”

“So you went ahead and tried to make it official without asking?” Clint answers icily. “It’s not like I was in some godforsaken country where you couldn’t reach me. I was in freaking New Mexico, and we were talking once a night.”

“I didn’t try to make anything official,” Laura snaps. “I didn’t ask her to marry me or tell her she needed to live here. I just tried to give her something that I thought would help make her feel more connected if she was still feeling unsure. Like when we gave her that room.”

“Yeah, but that…” Clint trails off. “It was different. That was simple. That was easy. A ring is...she’s not used to commitment, you know that. Hell, it took her this long to commit to us.” He sighs. “What do you mean when you say she freaked out?”

Laura crushes her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to swallow down her pain. “She ran away. She came back, but she didn’t tell me. Just left a note...she said she was sorry. And then she texted me before she left for New York. I forgave her, because I knew she had a right to be angry and upset. But we haven’t talked much since.”

Clint closes his eyes. “Fuck, Laura.”

Laura feels herself grow angry again. “I get a right to feel like this relationship means something,” she says sharply. “I get a right to make decisions. The same way you decided to make decisions that involved sleeping with her without asking me.”

Clint opens his mouth, and then closes it slowly. “When did this get so complicated?”

Laura swallows down a sudden wave of nausea, and wonders if she’s getting sick herself. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Maybe it always has been. Maybe up until now, we’ve just been romanticizing everything and not dealing with our issues.”

“Issues,” Clint mutters. “I remember when I thought getting married and being faithful to one person was overwhelming. And then all of a sudden, we went from zero to thirty with three people and a lot of baggage.”

“We did,” Laura says softly, realizing it’s true. The descent into trust and into a relationship that they all felt comfortable with had been slow and practiced and mostly filled with uncertainty and emotions. But the way in which they had decided to pursue their relationship with one another, Laura knows, had been like a freefall that none of them planned on thinking about before they took the plunge.

“I didn’t ask you to fall in love,” Laura says, wincing when she realizes how it sounds. Clint, however, looks wistful.

“You didn’t ask, either.”

“No,” she says softly, looking at the floor. “I didn’t.” She finds herself smiling, thinking of Natasha, thinking of Clint -- Natasha’s soft curls that felt like velvet when they brushed against Laura’s skin, Natasha’s eyes that sometimes looked like they were filled with angry fire and sometimes looked like they were filled with gentle flames. Clint’s coarse hands that moved like glass over every inch of her body, the laugh lines that have grown more prominent over time and his crooked grin that Laura feels secretly thrilled belongs to her and her alone.

“I know you were just trying to help,” Clint says after a beat. “It’s not your fault. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Would you have?”

Clint shrugs. “I mean, I did give her the arrow necklace after Budapest. That was more or less an engagement ring, kind of. Just...you know. A little less formal.”

Laura blinks back tears. “She texted me and apologized and I forgave her, but what if I ruined everything?”

“Hey.” Clint rubs her shoulder. “None of that, okay? This isn’t a one and done deal. This is a lifetime. This is a learning experience for all of us...even her, and she’s probably got the most experience out of anyone. We’re allowed to make mistakes. And Nat is...she’s Nat. She knows what her issues are, and you’re right, Laura. She loves us.” He pauses, stroking her hair. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah?” Laura leans in, suddenly desperate to be close to him and Clint sighs, kissing the side of her head.

“Yeah. I promise.”

Laura holds onto him tighter. “If I get sick from you, it’s your fault,” she says as she snuggles up against him. Clint chuckles.

“If you get sick, I’ll personally clean up your puke myself and sing about it.”

Laura swats at his shoulder. “Brat. In that case, I’m putting you on baby throw-up duty for the night.”

“I’ll take it,” Clint says with a small smile. “Anyway, there are worse things in the world.”

Laura suppresses the chill that runs through her body, but doesn’t say anything else.

 

***

 

It’s Clint’s idea to schedule a couples night while he’s home and while Cooper is at a sleepover with his friends and Laura's parents have taken Lila for the night, though in true Clint fashion, his idea includes splitting off into husband and wife factions so that he can take Hannah’s husband to the bar for drinks and darts.

“Besides,” he says, trying to make her feel better after he brings it up, “I haven’t been to the bar without working in what feels like forever. And you deserve some girl time.”

“I have girl time when Natasha is here,” Laura whines. “And Dave better not school me in darts. I have stake in that. Almost fourteen years worth of it.”

Clint snorts and then kisses her on the head. “Have you seen Dave shoot? He’s good with the guns but when he’s gotta throw small objects, his aim is shit. _Trust_ me. You’re way more talented. And attractive. I know you do the whole girls thing, but I am definitely not looking at men the same way.”

Laura grumbles about the situation but in the end, she finds she doesn’t mind all that much -- she enjoys Hannah’s company, and she enjoys it more when there’s a bottle of wine that they can split between them and a house empty of children.

“This is nice,” Hannah remarks once Laura has poured a second generous glass of Pinot Noir. “With Clint being away and everything going on, you probably haven’t had a true girls date in forever.”

Laura smiles, sitting down on the couch next to her. “I haven’t,” she acknowledges, knowing that’s not quite true. While it had been awhile since she had comfortably hung out with Hannah, Laura had gone on plenty of dates, real and not real over the past few months with Natasha -- not that her friend would know. In a sense, it feels weird to even be sitting here like this, drinking and talking in a quiet house with someone that’s _not_ Clint’s partner like she’s so used to.

“What’s wrong?”

Laura shakes her head, realizing she’s been dazedly staring at the wall. “Nothing,” she lies. “Just thinking of Clint going away again.”

“Oh,” Hannah looks confused, and then frowns. “I wasn’t aware he was going back to work so soon.”

Laura shrugs, swirling her wine slowly. “It’s not exactly a set science. He gets called in when he's needed and then is told to go away for a period of time, which could be a few days or a few months. But at this point, I’ve learned to live with it. It’s not nearly as bad as it was when he started all those years ago.”

Hannah nods, taking a sip of wine, and Laura finds herself falling into the hazy, comfortable, half-tipsy state that comes with too little food and too much alcohol.

“You know, Cooper came over the other day to play with Ava while Clint helped Dave do some work. And he started talking to me,” Hannah says suddenly. Laura glances up.

“Oh, yeah? Was he trying to convince you that he knows all the latest and greatest in baseball players? Because that’s a conversation we can’t get rid of in our house.”

Hannah laughs, but it’s a reaction that sounds hesitant. “Not exactly,” she admits. “He actually asked me if it was normal that you’d have two moms in your house.”

The glass that Laura’s been holding tips forward, spilling a wave of red wine onto the couch and also onto her clothes. Hannah jumps out of the way as Laura fumbles to recover from the comment, and the glass falls to the wood floor and shatters into pieces.

“Laura?”

“Shit,” Laura mutters, feeling like she’s responding to both the accident and the conversation. “Shit, shit...I’m sorry…”

“Laura, it’s okay.” Hannah kneels down and gathers as much of the larger pieces of glass as she can, putting them on the coffee table. “It’s your house. And you didn’t spill anything on me. Let me get some paper towels.” While her friend goes to the kitchen, Laura tries to clean up the rest of the mess, finding her hands shaking. The unsteadiness and distracted mindspace causes her to cut the underside of her finger on an unsuspecting shard, and suddenly she can’t tell what’s blood and what’s alcohol.

“Shit,” she mutters again as Hannah returns with an armful of paper towels, her eyebrows shooting up when she sees Laura’s hand.

“Let me see that,” she says at once, sitting down next to her as she presses some paper towels to the floor to soak up the mess. Laura wordlessly hands her palm over, because she’s still trying to figure out what to say or do, and looks away as Hannah inspects the small but deep cut that’s still gushing spurts of blood. Her hands are soft and steady, but all Laura can think about is Natasha, and Natasha’s gentle touch, and how her skin feels, and how much she misses her. In her already emotionally compromised state, the tears fall before she can stop them.

“Laura, what on earth is wrong?”

Hannah’s face is so concerned and her voice is so gentle that Laura instantly knows she can’t lie to her anymore.

“There’s…” She takes a breath. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Okay.” Hannah looks both confused and understanding. “But let me make sure you don’t bleed out all over your own couch first, okay?”

Laura manages a smile as a hot trail of water snakes its way down her cheek and holds a paper towel to the cut until it stops bleeding profusely. Hannah goes upstairs to grab a bandage from the first aid kit, and then cleans up the rest of the mess while Laura puts the band-aid on her skin.

“You probably need to do some stain removal,” Hannah says as she sits back down on the couch, and Laura wants to tell her that it’s not the first time she’s had to remove red stains like this from her floor, though that hadn’t been because of a drink. “Now, what’s wrong? And don’t you dare lie, because I’ve known you for eight years and this is very un-Laura-like behavior.”

Laura snorts out another laugh and blows her nose with a tissue, wiping a hand across her eyes. “It was,” she admits. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Hannah pulls her legs up onto the couch. “Something’s bothering you, and you’re upset. What is it?”

 _What is it._ Laura wonders how to start, considering that even something like Clint being SHIELD was a situation that had come out of the blue, when he had taken a high-profile hostage operation in Afghanistan that ended up warranting media coverage due to political red tape. Hannah, who had been off work at the time and had been watching the news, had called Laura wondering why someone that looked so much like her husband was being shown on television.

“You know Natasha,” she starts and Hannah nods.

“Of course. The girl who works with your husband, who visits here all the time.”

“Yeah.” Laura breathes deeply, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, she’s...we’re…” Laura closes her eyes briefly before she opens them again. “Let’s just say that she’s not only my husband’s partner. And it’s not a coincidence that Cooper has asked you about having two moms.”

Hannah startles a little bit, and Laura can see that she gets it immediately, even though Laura hasn’t actually said the words out loud.

“Laura Nicole Barton. Iowa’s perfect soccer mom is sleeping with her husband _and_ her husband’s partner in her spare time? I never would have guessed.”

“A lot of people probably wouldn’t have guessed,” Laura mutters, and Hannah rubs her shoulder gently, curling up next to her.

“Who else knows? Do your parents know?”

Laura swallows. “No,” she says quietly. “No one knows, not even my parents, not even anyone Clint works with, and no one in town or at school. We haven’t really told Cooper yet, either, but...I don’t know. We probably need to. We’ve been putting it off, because…” She trails off thinking of Natasha and the ring. “Well. Because.”

Hannah looks intrigued. “If I can ask, how long has this been going on?”

Laura finds herself blushing. “A few years after we met for the first time,” she says, pushing hair shyly behind her ear like she’s fifteen and trying to explain her feelings to a school crush all over again. “Clint was partnered with her when he first joined SHIELD, it was about a year and a half after that when she came to the house. Kind of by accident -- he had gotten hurt on an assignment. She kept visiting after that and spent a lot of time here, but it took awhile for us to realize that we liked each other in that way.”

Hannah regards Laura carefully, and suddenly, Laura’s unsure what her friend is thinking. She’d never thought of Hannah as someone who would judge her for this type of thing, but Laura also knows that this kind of information drop isn’t exactly normal.

“Did you guys all have sex yet?”

“Hannah!” Laura finds herself smiling as she swats at her friend’s arm. “No, we haven’t. We’ve kissed and fooled around and that kind of stuff, and we’re all incredibly intimate. She has her own room here, though we do sleep in the same bed a lot. But we haven’t had a threesome or anything. We keep talking about it, though.”

“Well.” Hannah smiles. “When it _does_ happen, I expect to be the first person you call when you have to tell someone about how good it was. Because you’ve already admitted that your short list of people to gossip about this relationship with is _incredibly_ short.”

Laura shakes her head, feeling suddenly lighter. “I can’t believe you’re not more surprised about this.”

“Really?” Hannah snorts. “I can’t believe Laura Barton, the purest of all the people that I know, is in a triad relationship.”

“Polyamorous, technically,” Laura corrects, leaning back on the couch, her expression and reactions sobering. “And come on, Hannah, you of all people know that I’m far from pure.”

“That’s true. I’ve heard you swear enough,” Hannah says lightly and Laura grins.

“It was easier, when we were kind of in a honeymoon phase of figuring out each other’s feelings,” she says after a moment. “We were slower with things, and Cooper was younger, and our lives were less complicated.”

“No secret missions?” Hannah asks smartly and Laura sighs.

“Not even that,” she says, thinking of Natasha and the Red Room and of hospital stays. “It was just...easier. We could pretend that we didn’t need to talk or think about things like our pasts or our future or our real lives. When we were together, we could focus on learning how to love one another and we didn’t have to deal with anything that came after.”

Hannah smiles sadly. “It’s the same way with any relationship,” she says softly. “Dave and I had that period. I’m sure you went through the same thing with Clint.”

“Strangely, I didn’t,” Laura says wryly. “It kind of just went from honeymoon period to marriage with us, and the honeymoon period never really stopped. I got lucky in that way. There were speed bumps and fights, but we never worried about things that could complicate our relationship. Even with his job.”

“Not even this?” Hannah asks gently. Laura shakes her head.

“That’s the funny thing. He had so much worry when he told me about what he felt for Natasha, and I never doubted him for a second. Maybe because I was falling in love with her before I realized what was happening. I didn’t know what my feelings even were, at first...it took awhile for it to even out, but it did.”

Hannah leans on her elbow, pushing her cheek against curled up fingers. “You are a special friend, Laura Barton.”

“Special in what way?” Laura asks warily, but Hannah’s smiling.

“You have a lot of people that love you. Doesn’t that make you feel lucky?”

Laura shrugs, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. “I guess I never thought about it that way,” she admits. “I know I do, but it’s hard to realize in the moment. When things are stressful.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Maybe I should talk about it more. I don’t talk about it to anyone except Clint and Natasha, for obvious reasons. I mean, I don’t even have a therapist.”

Hannah edges closer to Laura. “Well,” she starts. “I’m no therapist, but if you’re going to start sharing, there’s apparently almost ten years worth of things I need to catch up on, and I’m pretty sure our husbands will be amusing themselves like the dorks they are for at least another five hours. Should I open another bottle of wine?”

Laura lets her head fall onto her friend’s shoulder and laughs again, nodding against her skin.

 

***

 

Natasha gets back to New York and finds that she can’t concentrate.

She’d theoretically lied about going to Russia, though her return to New York hadn’t been fabricated. But while she had gotten a message to get back to HQ, she also knows that under normal circumstances, she would have taken her time getting back and lobbied for a little more leeway to stay at the farm. She wouldn’t have just _run_.

Natasha tries to take her mind off the situation by putting all of her effort into researching her current mission, and training recruits in her spare time. Laura had texted her on the plane with an apology that was as good as any to prove that she was okay, because Natasha knows Laura would tell her if she _wasn’t_ okay. But she still finds herself distracted and unable to concentrate.

“You’re slipping, Romanoff,” she mutters when she finds herself staring haphazardly at her hands, her fingers still tingling when she looks at them. She wonders about Clint, who she knows is home by now, about Lila and Cooper, but mostly, she thinks of Laura. She thinks of Laura and of Laura offering her the ring, of Laura’s hurt face and tear-filled eyes as Natasha literally threw a well-meaning gesture out like the trash, of Laura sleeping when Natasha finally left without giving her the opportunity to say goodbye. She realizes how much she hates herself for how she’s acted, but every time she thinks of picking up the phone, she backs out due to overwhelming fear and guilt.

After three weeks of distance and agonizing mental torture that keeps her up at night and causes even Fury to look at her dubiously, she leaves SHIELD and takes a plane back to Iowa, this time taking a whole row to herself and stretching out while trying not to fidget nervously as she thinks of what she’s going to be facing. She hails a cab when she lands at Des Moines International Airport, taking it all the way to a Motel 6 in Ames. When she arrives, she takes out her phone and a bottle of vodka and places both of the items on the small night table. Natasha showers and changes into more comfortable clothes, including the sweatshirt Laura had picked up for her during a recent school retreat to Chicago, and climbs into bed and turns off the light. She drinks at least a third of the bottle of alcohol before picking up the phone.

_I’m here and I want to see you. Motel 6 off the highway near I-35. Please come. Alone._

She debates finishing off the bottle but figures it’s not really smart to apologize in such a state, so she tries to busy herself with doing other things instead, flipping television channels and playing with the small pocket knife that she keeps on her whenever she travels, until she hears a soft knock on the door. She doesn’t bother to get up; she’s left the door open and knows that if she waits long enough, Laura will just enter on her own.

“You’re alone,” Natasha says when she sees Laura, trying not to slur her words. She’s not drunk, not really -- she’s got enough of a sense to know what’s going on and she can still think clearly, but it doesn’t mean she’s not aware her emotions are unstable.

“Of course I am,” Laura says, closing the door. “You asked me to come alone.” She reaches for the light switch, letting sudden brightness flood the room, her eyes narrowing when she looks at Natasha.

“Jesus, Nat -- have you been drinking?”

“What gave it away?” Natasha asks weakly, the sight of Laura sending her into complete vulnerability. Laura thins her lips.

“Your face, for one. I’ve seen you and Clint drink too many times to know when you’ve had enough, or not enough.”

“Some things never change,” Natasha says, trying to keep her voice steady and hating that somewhere between years ago and now, she’s lost any semblance of the strength she used to have when it came to pretending that other people didn’t matter. Laura sits down tentatively on the bed and Natasha wants to reach out and touch her -- she aches to touch her, but she finds that she can’t.

Laura gives her a gentle look. “Why did you come here?”

Natasha blinks in the harsh light. “To apologize,” she says slowly, and Laura swallows.

“You did apologize. You sent a text.”

 _Fuck. No._ “No,” Natasha says when she finds her voice. “That wasn’t an apology. That was a way out. I hurt you. I threw that ring away, I made you upset, all because I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. And then I bolted, the same way I bolted when I had to run away from my past.”

Laura stays silent, putting her hand on Natasha’s knee. “It’s okay.”

And there it was, because somehow, Natasha knew it was coming. _It’s okay._ The same thing Clint had told her after she forcibly attempted to strangle the life out of him so many years ago. Any normal person would have refused to talk to her again, would never have even considered letting her so much as try to apologize, but Clint had marched right into her room and told her it was okay. She’s not surprised Laura’s reacting the same way to having a genuine moment thrown back in her face.

“You don’t deserve this,” Natasha whispers. “You don’t deserve me. Laura...I’m a mess.”

Laura laughs quietly, reaching up and cupping the side of Natasha’s face with her palm. “I’ve known you for years, Natasha. I fell in love with you. We’ve been over this.” She smiles, her voice and expression as warm as the hand resting on her skin. “I don’t care if you’re a mess. Like I tell Clint all the time, you’re _my_ mess. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Natasha lets out a quiet cry that sounds pitifully sad in the small motel room. “I’m sorry,” she says, and once the words are out she can’t seem to stop them. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t take the ring still, I can’t do it, but I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Natasha.” Laura opens her arms, her eyes shining. “Natasha, I know. I know.”

Natasha can’t help herself from falling into Laura’s grip, and she lets the other girl hold her as she cries, clutching her arms tightly. Laura’s hand rakes through her hair, fingers gently trailing across her scalp, and her words are a jumble of lost letters and comforting murmurs.

“You don’t hate me, right?”

“Natasha…” Laura moves away and holds Natasha at arms length. “Nat, let me tell you what I tell my kids. I could never hate you. Ever.” She leans forward and brings Natasha’s head close so she can kiss her, and Natasha’s not sure whether it’s the alcohol or the emotions that fuel her sudden need for passion but she kisses Laura back fiercely, and then pushes Laura back on the bed, reaching for her shirt so she can pull it off. Laura gasps quietly as Natasha pulls down her bra so that she can run her tongue over one of her nipples, taking it between her teeth and biting down for added pressure.

Laura moans. “Clint’s going to be so pissed,” she breathes as Natasha licks down Laura’s stomach.

“His loss,” she responds nonchalantly, continuing to kiss her, realizing how much she’s missed this. She sleeps with Clint often, mostly because the situation allows for it, but she hasn’t been fully intimate with Laura in a long time.

“We should do this more often,” Laura says raggedly as Natasha tugs down her pants. Natasha finds herself smiling.

“Sex? Kissing?”

“All of the above,” Laura confirms, her chest heaving. “Hotel room. Alcohol. No kids.”

“I thought you liked your kids,” Natasha says as she moves so she can strip out of her own clothes, climbing on top of Laura’s body. Despite the alcohol she’s ingested she feels entirely lucid staring at Laura’s lazy smile, the way her dark, ombre-infused hair is splayed around her head like a halo, sweat glistening over her skin.

“I like you more,” Laura says and Natasha kisses her again, rolling off Laura and onto the bed, suddenly content to simply be close. They would get to the intimate part of the night eventually; it was early and she knows Laura’s probably left the kids with Clint, which meant she could spend a little bit of time away from the farm.

“How are they? Cooper...Lila?”

Laura turns her head and meets Natasha’s eyes. “They’re good,” she says quietly. “They miss you, Lila especially. It’s funny, you think a baby wouldn’t notice so much, but she asks for you. In her own way. Cooper keeps asking when you’re coming home.”

 _I want to come home_ , she thinks, her throat burning. She knows she’s used to being away since she doesn’t truly live at the house, but thanks to the chasm that had opened after Laura’s ring mishap, she feels even more removed than usual and it hurts her heart. “I miss them,” she says. Laura reaches for her hand and clasps it tightly, bringing it to her chest. “But they’re not --”

“Natasha, I swear to god if you try to tell me they’re not your kids again, I will get up and leave this room right now and you’ll get nothing from me.” Laura’s voice is both firm and curt, and Natasha’s cheeks become hot with embarrassment. Laura edges closer, pressing her thumb gently against Natasha’s lips.

“You don’t want to come back? Not even for a little bit? Clint said you’re not leaving for Russia for awhile.”

Natasha swallows down her hurt. “I can’t,” she says softly. “I don’t want to do that to them. I don’t want to show up like this and have them deal with me leaving again. It’s not fair.”

Laura doesn’t answer that, and Natasha doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that after all this time, she knows Laura will no longer say things like, _you could live here_ , or _you could stay_.

“Will this ever not be hard on any of us?” She doesn’t know if she means to say the words out loud, and realizes they sound shaky and overwhelming in the quiet room.

“Maybe,” Laura says softly. “But you wanted to take it slow, and that was your decision. Clint and I can’t push you on that. Even if we feel something different. Even if we love you. I made that mistake, and it cost me.”

Natasha shakes her head and lets out a long breath, turning around so that she’s meeting Laura’s face, forehead to forehead. She wonders if this is how Clint feels all the time when he gets to sleep with his wife, because the moments that Laura and Natasha get to lie together without interruption like this are far and few between.

“It didn’t cost you,” she whispers. “I’m here. I promise. I missed you, Laura...I missed you so much, I missed this. I missed _us_. I never want to lose that.”

Laura smiles gently, kissing her. “I know, Nat. I know.”

Laura strokes her hair while Natasha breathes in her scent, closing her eyes, and she tries to forget she’s anything more than a broken toy someone keeps putting back together to try to love.

 

***

 

Clint gets the summon to return to work when they’re in the middle of visiting one of the neighboring farms, where they’ve taken the kids for the afternoon. Laura’s sipping a large iced coffee and holding onto Lila’s stroller while Cooper runs around with Clint in the open pasture, before he tackles his son to the ground in a laughing shriek. Laura smiles around her straw and shakes her head a little before turning her attention to Lila, who is flailing around in her stroller but is otherwise behaving herself, distracted by the sights and sounds of nature.

“I need five minutes,” Clint says when he returns to sit next to Laura on the grass, his flannel shirt soaked with sweat. His face is flushed, and he’s breathing heavily. “And a massage, and five Advil. Maybe ten.”

“Dad!” Cooper stomps his foot in annoyance from behind him, and Clint looks up warily. “Watch me run!”

Clint and Laura glance up and watch as Cooper takes off across the farm, tiny arms and legs pumping as he speeds over the grass and dirt, until he gets to the far end of the fence.

“Touchdown!” Cooper yells out to no one in particular, pretending to catch a football before pumping his fist in the air and waving to his imaginary adoring fans. Laura watches her son with a fond smile, leaning back on her hands.

“He’s growing up,” she muses quietly. “You know, I found a picture the other day of you as a kid, when I was cleaning. He looks just like you.”

“ _Looks_ just like me,” Clint repeats. “Do you know the other day he sat me down and recited the capitals of all fifty states? I couldn’t do that when I was eight, and I was well-read.” He pauses. “Sometimes I can’t believe he’s my kid.”

“I can,” Laura deadpans. “Have you seen him eat?”

Clint laughs quietly. “Got some of Nat’s traits, too, I think. At least, in personality. The other day I found a stash of papers under his bed, hidden inside, like, four shoe boxes. Apparently he’s been writing up fake police reports and they were all addressed to _Mrs. Romanoff._ ”

Laura smiles faintly. “Does that mean I’m going to need to start locking the windows once he turns thirteen?”

“Possibly,” Clint acknowledges, watching Cooper run around. “She’s already taught him how to defend himself against school bullies non-lethally. Who knows what she’ll teach him by the time he’s old enough to be sneaky?”

“He’s _already_ sneaky,” Laura points out, reaching over and picking up Lila from her stroller. “I found three packages of cookies in his lunch box the other day and when I asked where he got them, he said you had given them to him. I almost believed him.” She lays the baby on the blanket in front of her and rubs her belly a few times, until Lila grins and giggles.

“What’s wrong?” Laura asks when Clint doesn’t talk for a beat too long, because she can sense he’s trying to figure out how to say something he doesn’t necessarily want her to hear. To her credit, he doesn’t even pretend to shoot her down, and she thinks it’s a testament to how well they know each other by now.

“They want me to go back,” Clint says. Laura sighs and looks down at Lila’s toothless, drooling smile.

“Back where?”

Clint picks at the grass by his feet. “New Mexico. It’s an inside job, this time. Inside as in actually inside, not like, some spy thing. I’ll be in some sort of lab, I guess. Probably just grunt work to keep me busy while Nat is in Russia.”

Laura bites down on her tongue. “You just got home,” she says, still looking at the baby, and she hears Clint shift beside her. He leans forward and picks up Lila, who squeals as she adjusts to her father’s arms.

“You know I hate when I have to leave, Laur.”

“I know,” Laura says quietly. “I guess I just hoped one day it would slow down.” She stares up at Cooper again, who’s trotted off to look at the horses on the other side of the fence. “Lila can’t sleep anymore without the pillow I made from your shirts. And Coop’s already eight. How much longer can you keep going away and coming home for days at a time without him asking too many questions?”

“Did _you_ ask questions of your dad when he went away?” Clint asks, and Laura gives him a sideways glare.

“I did, actually. I asked my mom why he had to leave so much, once I got old enough to notice that he was coming and going more frequently than people who had normal jobs. But I’m assuming it was easier for her to explain he worked in the army and show me pictures of his plane and uniform than it will be for us to explain that you work for a secret organization and shoot a bow and arrow like a circus act.”

“Eight’s still too young to know about what I do,” Clint says firmly. “And I am _not_ a circus act, thank you very much.”

Laura ignores his slightly hurt tone. “We can’t keep him in a bubble forever,” she says finally, feeling resigned. “You’re an Avenger now. That’s different than just going on missions and maybe hearing something vague on the news. You think you’re not going to be high profile someday soon?”

Clint exhales loudly, helping Lila stand unsteadily on the blanket while holding tightly to her hands. Cooper’s yells weave over the open space, settling in Laura’s ears.

“He’s just...he’s so innocent,” Clint murmurs, his voice almost inaudible. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt that, you know? Not before we have to.”

“I understand,” Laura says gently, putting a hand on his arm. “But I also don’t want us to lie to him and then have him get mad that we never told him anything. What’s worse -- us telling him early, or him finding out at school or from one of his friends?”

"Hi!"

"Hi, Miss Lila." He steadies the baby on her tiny feet. “So what does Nat think about all of this?”

Laura looks down at the blanket. “I’m not sure,” she says slowly. “I didn’t ask her. I was hoping we could all sit down together and talk at some point about how to do this. Whatever we tell him about you is going to affect her, also. And you know he’ll ask.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, sticking his tongue inside his cheek. “Can’t we just, you know, give him some cookies and promise him a trip to Disney or something?”

Laura groans. “ _Clint_.”

“I know, I know.” He glances up again. “Bad parenting. I do wish it was that easy, though. We’ve gotten away with it for so long.”

“You could _stop_ going away,” Laura says, though she knows that answer isn’t appropriate or feasible. Laura tries to focus on Cooper playing in the distance as Clint lets his daughter back down to sit.

“How long?” Laura asks after a stretch of silence, watching Lila amuse herself with the patterns of the blanket.

“Until I feel like it can be my last project,” Clint says. “Until Natasha feels like it can be hers.”

“And then what?” Laura tries and fails to keep the spite out of her voice. “You both come home together? Like normal people, like a normal couple?”

“Yes,” Clint says and Laura knows she can’t help the eye roll that accompanies her response. “Laura, I’m serious. After we come back from this, I want us to talk to her about moving in. For real.”

Laura sighs, watching Lila, and tries to hide another smile that she can’t help when she looks at her daughter. “I thought you got mad at me because I was trying to push things too much with giving her a ring.”

“And she apologized,” Clint says pointedly. “Didn’t she?”

Laura nods; she had told Clint about Natasha’s detour to Iowa because while Natasha had told her to come alone, she _hadn’t_ said she didn’t want Clint to know. And Laura knows Natasha would have been a fool if she didn’t think Clint knew about what happened while he was away.

“It won’t happen,” she says, feeling like she can’t keep track of the amount of times she’s said those words over the past few years. “Maybe it can happen one day, when you guys aren’t avenging anymore, but not now.”

Clint’s face falls a little. “You think she doesn’t want it?”

Laura shakes her head, because if there’s one thing she knows about Natasha, it’s that underneath all of the fear and anxiety and running, Natasha’s wanted it for years. “She does. And she already thinks of this as her home. But I can’t do this, Clint. I know that’s being selfish, but it’s hard enough when you go away. Don’t make it worse by adding more stress to my life when she shoots down the proposal yet again and things go back to being awkward for no reason.”

Lila cries out as Clint grabs his daughter to tip her upside down, before lifting her up to place her on top of his shoulders while she giggles. “She should be here, though. For her.”

“She should be here for a lot of things,” Laura points out trying not to sound bitter, reaching up to wipe Lila’s hands, which are transferring dirt and grass onto Clint’s hair. “She did say she’d come back for Cooper’s pirate play next week, and I’m holding her to that.”

“Thank god,” Clint mutters. “Because if I had to deal with another question about why Aunt Nat can’t be at an important thing, I was gonna lose it.”

Laura smiles, glancing back at Cooper, who’s taken to wandering around the grass while talking to himself. “Speaking of Coop, I guess we should pack it in. I’d rather not wait until he hits his cranky stage. I don’t have the patience to deal with his mouth today.”

“You and me both,” Clint confirms, talking above a still-giggling Lila. “And I still feel like I should apologize, because he definitely got my mouth.”

“Yeah, but he also got your charm, and I’m tempted to let him cultivate it because it’s kind of cute,” Laura says with a small grin.

“You never say it’s cute when I use my charm on you,” Clint grouses, shooting her a look as Lila grabs for his hair. “Anyway, grab him and I’ll get her settled.”

Laura gets up and manages to coax her son back towards the blanket as Clint fastens Lila back into her stroller, cleaning up the few spare wrappers from food that Laura had brought for them to snack on.

“Hey, dad!”

Clint looks up as Cooper approaches. “Hey, what?”

“Can I push Lila’s stroller? Please?”

Clint smiles and nods as Cooper breaks away from Laura’s side, and Laura watches him run up to his father, who tackles him gently before letting him put his small hands on the handles of the stroller.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots and a horse bays, and when Clint turns around and smiles at her, Laura feels herself come apart.

 

***

 

Laura wakes at five in the morning, unable to sleep.

For once, it’s not Clint snoring, or Lila babbling through the baby monitor, or Cooper sneaking downstairs to take cookies from the pantry when he thinks no one is listening. It’s a feeling that jolts her awake, a rocking nauseous sensation in her stomach that swims up into her chest, making it hard to breathe and harder still to close her eyes and relax. She squints at the bedside clock, groaning to herself when she realizes how early it is, and then carefully gets up from the bed, trying not to disturb Clint who is passed out beside her and taking up most of the mattress in his trademark sprawled out manner.

Laura goes to the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and bends down in front of the toilet bowl. She tries a few times to make herself throw up, hoping to quell the feeling that won’t abate, but aside from helpless gags and spit, there’s nothing in her stomach that her body wants to eject. After a few moments of heaving, she gets up and splashes water onto her face, takes a few Tums for good measure, and braces herself against the bathroom sink, staring at her tired face and bloodshot eyes.

When she finally exits the bathroom, she lingers for a moment in the hallway, trying to decide whether or not to go back to her room or make tea downstairs. Something in her chest pulls and twists when she thinks about being apart from Clint, however close they are in the house, and she walks back into the bedroom where he’s still sleeping soundly in the same position she’s left him in. Laura heads into the large walk-in closet and sits down at the desk, taking out a book from their hidden stash of novels in one of the drawers, and tries to concentrate on the pages and words in the overwhelming quiet. It helps, being able to take her mind off disturbing and anxious thoughts, but she still feels jumpy and out of sorts, and startles considerably when Clint snakes his arm around her stomach, coming up behind her.

“I didn’t know you liked to get up so early,” he whispers as she stands up from the chair, his dry morning breath tickling her skin. He rocks back and forth against her, cuddling her gently, and then drops a single kiss to her shoulder blade. “You wanna have some fun before the kids get up?”

Laura closes her eyes and tries to lose herself in Clint’s touch, tries to focus on the way his hard-on is already pressing into her back, but she can’t make herself feel anything but fear and anxiousness.

“I’m not in the mood,” she says finally, twisting away from him as he nuzzles her neck gently. She closes the book on the table and Clint pulls back, concern lacing his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Laura swallows down a lump in her throat, meeting his eyes. “Will you be okay? When you leave?”

Clint stares back at her, looking both confused and concerned. “You mean when I go back to SHIELD? Of course I will. Why?”

Laura shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I just have a bad feeling. And I can’t shake it.”

Clint runs a hand through her hair. “A bad feeling about what? Me?”

Laura nods. “Yes,” she whispers, unable to keep her anxiety hidden. “I don’t want you to go.”

Clint frowns, drawing her close, gently rubbing her back. “Hey, come on. None of that. I’ll be okay. How many times have I left and come back and nothing has happened?”

Laura looks up with a pointed glare. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Okay, so, maybe not the best reassurance,” Clint admits. “But come on, Laur. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to watch a bunch of boring scientists play with some alien tech, and make sure no one burns down the building while they’re gone. And make sure they don’t burn themselves down, for that matter. Compared to other missions I’ve had, this is nothing.”

Laura tries to smile, but the intense feeling steamrolling through her belly refuses to let up, and Clint seems to notice, cuddling her gently and securely.

“What are you afraid of? That I’ll get hurt? That Natasha will get hurt?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Laura says sharply, confused and angry and frustrated all at once by feelings that seem too strong. “But for once, it’s not about Natasha. It’s about you. And I can’t shake this. I’ve never felt this way about you leaving before, even when you first joined SHIELD, no matter how worried I’ve been.”

Clint puts his lips together and sighs quietly, letting air out through his nose. “And nothing I say or do is going to make it better.”

Laura shakes her head. “Don’t go,” she repeats softly, pressing her face into his chest. “Get them to send someone else. Stay here with me instead.”

Clint rubs his cheek against her hair. “You know that I can’t.”

She does know, and she thinks maybe that’s the reason she’s trying so hard to convince him otherwise. Clint kisses the side of her head and rubs her back.

“Want to take a walk?”

“We can’t,” Laura says, nodding to the bedroom door. “Not with Lila sleeping.”

“Okay.” Clint rubs a hand over his eyes, clearly tired in more ways than one, and Laura finds herself feeling guilty. “Wanna just cuddle then?”

Laura nods wordlessly and gets back into bed, Clint following and snuggling up against her until they’re practically fused together.

“Sorry,” she whispers as Clint strokes her head.

“It’s okay. I think I can get another erection pretty easily, if I want to.”

Laura tries to smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

Clint thumbs back a lock of hair. “I know. And look, I’ve been coming and going at this job for almost ten years now. I think you’re due for a breakdown every once in awhile.”

“You act like I’ve never _had_ one,” she says, pressing into him, thinking of all the years she’s spent worrying and yelling and guilt tripping. “Maybe it’s just us getting older. Maybe it’s the fact we keep building a family. Maybe the stakes keep getting higher.”

“The stakes _are_ higher,” Clint says in a practical tone. “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be worried, Laur.”

Laura opens her mouth to respond but she’s distracted by the sound of distinct footsteps against the stairs, so soft that she knows if the house wasn’t quiet, she would have missed them.

“Clint --”

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s heard the sound also; his senses were way too trained not to notice anything out of the ordinary, but Laura also knows that he’s ten times more vigilant when it comes to his own house.

“Stay here,” he whispers in her ear as he moves quietly out of the bed, grabbing for the small handgun that Laura knows is taped underneath the mattress. It had taken her a long time to be okay with Clint storing any kind of weapon in close range of their most intimate space, not to mention their children, but eventually she had come to accept that it was another part of this life that, like surgical scars and concussions, she needed to get used to.

Laura holds her breath, her heart pounding out of her chest yet again, this time for an entirely different reason. Clint moves to the other side of the door so that he has a good vantage point, but is still hidden enough not to be noticed by whoever the intruder is. Laura thinks of Cooper and Lila sleeping across the hall, and says a silent prayer as the door opens slowly, natural light from the hallway windows streaming inside.

“ _Natasha_?” Laura blinks in surprise, the air rushing out of her as if she’s been punched in the stomach. ”Jesus Christ, Natasha --”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Clint hisses angrily as he drops his stance and lets the gun fall to his side. Natasha closes the door and carefully puts a finger to her lips.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“No shit,” Clint mutters and Laura shoots him a look. “No, that’s not what I meant, Nat --”

“Shut up,” she hisses back. “I just traveled for hours and I don’t want to hear it. I know I didn’t tell you I was coming, but I’m here, okay? I came to see you. And I need to be out and away before the kids wake up, even if that means you sneaking me out underneath their noses and lying about it.”

Laura nods; she doesn’t ask why Natasha came or even why she’s not staying, because she’s learned over the years that there’s no rhyme or reason for why Natasha makes the choices she does when it comes to their relationship. She comes home when Laura thinks she should run, and she runs when Laura thinks she should come home. But Laura also knows that Natasha loves them, and is just as human as they all are, despite her assassin upbringing -- and that sometimes, it’s simpler than even _that_ black and white reasoning.

Sometimes, it’s just that she needs to come _home_.

“ _You_ are coming to bed,” Laura decides as she moves over, and Natasha looks surprised, shrugging out of her jacket. Laura notices that she’s already dressed down, as if she’s prepared herself for this brief encounter.

“Well, that’s pretty nice of you to offer, considering your husband almost shot me.”

“I wasn’t gonna shoot you, for fuck’s sake,” Clint mutters, getting down to stick the gun back underneath the bed. Natasha moves to the middle so that Clint can get in on the other side, and puts a hand on Laura’s cheek.

“You’re crying,” Natasha observes in concern, her brows knitting together, and Laura’s about to refute her when she realizes there’s water on her cheeks. “You never cry. What’s wrong?”

Laura shakes her head into the pillow, praying that Clint won’t say anything regarding their earlier conversation. “Nothing. I just missed you,” she says, pulling Natasha close, and Clint presses in on her other side. Natasha kisses Laura’s forehead, soft lips brushing against her skin.

“Why the hell do you think I came home, Laura? I missed you, too.”

 

***

 

Natasha doesn’t sneak out, and she doesn’t leave before the kids wake up. Instead, she sleeps through her set alarm and when Clint nudges her per her instructions to wake her up, she snores quietly and pulls a pillow over her matted red hair.

“Five more minutes,” she groans into the fabric, her voice heavy with sleep. Clint lets a smile play over his lips, kisses her cheek, watches as Laura moves to cuddle her more, and then exits the room.

Predictably, when she finally does rouse two hours later with sleep hair and morning breath, she’s pissed that he didn’t bother to force her out of the house -- though she puts on a smiling face that Clint can tell is more than one hundred percent genuine when Cooper wraps himself around her legs and Lila clutches her neck and doesn’t let go, at least, not until Natasha pries her off so she can help her eat breakfast.

“This is not what I asked,” Natasha grumbles when Laura has finally corralled her children upstairs so they can get dressed, after she’s accepted the coffee Clint’s holding out. “I just wanted to come cuddle for a night, _without_ making a big deal.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Nat. But you haven’t seen the kids in forever. So it _is_ going to be a big deal,” Clint says, kissing her on the head before she sits down. Natasha scrunches up her nose, an imitation of Lila that if Clint didn't know better, he'd think came from her own DNA.

“How’s New York?”

“Okay.” Natasha takes a long drink of coffee. “Quiet, actually.”

“Quiet? Huh.” Clint snorts into his coffee, sending ripples across the surface as he takes a seat at the table across from her. “No big kidnappings, or did Rumlow finally go crazy and kill everyone?”

Natasha smiles faintly. “No, just quiet,” she says, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Hill and Fury and Coulson have been away, you’ve been away, and because I’m going to Russia I can’t get sent out on any other mission in the meantime. So.” She shrugs, drinking more coffee. “Quiet.”

“Sounds like you could use a break,” Clint hints. “Last I checked, we had a full house here at the farm. Over-excitable eight year old, crying toddler, stressed out parents, one of whom happens to be a SHIELD agent. I mean, I’m just saying.”

Natasha smiles slowly. “And I’m just saying that you know that I don’t want to be anywhere else,” she replies a little sadly. “But now is...not the right time.”

Clint lets that one go because he could fill a book with Natasha’s excuse of it not being the right time -- _when will it ever be the right time_ , he finds himself wondering -- and decides to talk about the elephant in the room instead.

“I know about the ring.”

“Of course you do,” Natasha says, in a voice only half resigned. “I figured Laura would tell you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Clint says next, feeling like he’s surprising even himself with his words. As it is, Natasha looks up with raised brows.

“Don’t you dare try and tell me that how I reacted was okay,” she warns sharply, leaning over the table. “I left. I ran out and treated Laura like shit. I acted the way I would’ve acted years ago, before I had any regard for people’s feelings. And I felt terrible for days afterwards because that’s…” She stops, swallowing. “Because that’s not how you treat the people you love,” she finishes, glancing up and around what Clint knows is an overflowing, cluttered and messy kitchen.

“It wasn’t okay,” Clint says, because he knows he can and should be honest with her about how hurt Laura was about her reaction, even if she didn’t tell him every detail of how the exchange went down, something he respected enough not to push on -- it had been her decision and their moment, and he was willing to give her that part of building their relationship. “But we made a mistake on our end. You told us you wanted to take it slow, and we did, and then we jumped the gun because we thought we were finally in a place where we were settled. And obviously, she didn’t know you were married before, Nat. We should’ve talked about it before we decided to say something.”

Natasha doesn’t respond, but Clint can see her trying to hold back the start of tears. “You have a heart,” Natasha says, sniffling slightly, and Clint can tell she’s trying to deflect her emotions. “Who knew?”

“I knew,” Laura says, coming back into the kitchen with Lila, who is now dressed in a pink baby sweatsuit and flower headband. She practically falls out of Laura’s arms in order to get to Natasha and Clint notices Natasha’s mood instantly changes, her eyes clearing and her face brightening. “Also, in case you need proof someone missed you, consider that she’s never responded to either of us like this.” She sits down on Clint’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into his chest in a half-cuddle.

“When are you leaving?”

Clint notices it pains her to even ask the words, and he also notices how Natasha’s breath hitches slightly before she responds. “I should go back soon,” she says slowly. “I only meant to stay for the night.”

“Stay longer,” Laura urges, tightening her arm around Clint. “What’s so urgent that you have to get back to New York right away? Plus, I’m making chicken pot pie tonight. You can help. And Cooper has a soccer game at the end of the week, and Lila has a new playgroup you haven’t been to yet. And --”

“Okay, okay!” Natasha bounces Lila up and down with a smile. “I surrender. I guess I’m officially domesticated.”

Clint grins and blows a kiss at Natasha from where he’s sitting, given that he can’t move with Laura attached to him. “That’s just the way we like you,” he says as Laura smiles.

“I thought you liked me naked and covered in gunpowder and dirt,” she smirks.

“That’s negotiable,” Clint says as Laura shoots him a deadly look. “Aw, come on, she can’t understand this conversation.”

“As her mother, I reserve the right to assume what she can and cannot understand,” Laura retorts. “Need I remind you that Cooper picked up your bad words when he was three?”

Clint grumbles under his breath, and Laura kisses him again, her tongue nipping at his ear.

Natasha decides she’ll stay at least a week, which turns into three and a half -- not that Clint minds, and he knows that Laura and Natasha don’t mind, either. Natasha goes to Cooper’s soccer practices and picks him up from school and helps him with his homework. Clint and Laura get more done around the house when Natasha babysits Lila and takes her on walks and to the toddler activity groups, and Natasha brings both kids into town for parades and storytime and shopping, which makes Clint laugh because it’s the picture of domestication he knows Natasha swore she would never let herself fall into. At night, they all eat dinner together before Natasha helps with Lila’s bedtime rituals, and then after everyone under ten has gone to bed, Clint and Natasha go over a few reports while Laura does work. Natasha sleeps more in their bedroom than she does in the one designated for her, but she always wakes up early enough to tiptoe back to her room like a teenager, to avoid Cooper and Lila seeing her coming out of their parents’ bedroom by accident.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Cooper says during breakfast almost a month later, pushing some eggs around his plate, looking positively depressed. “Who’s going to help me with my homework?”

“Your mom will, like she always does,” Natasha responds automatically, kissing the top of his head. “And when I’m done working, I’ll be back, and so will your dad. Plus, you can always call me, remember?”

“I don’t see him getting upset that _I’m_ leaving,” Clint grumbles under his breath as he grabs a cup of coffee, because as much as Laura hadn’t liked it, they had long decided that whenever Natasha returned, it made the most sense for Clint to return with her, his next mission being around the corner anyway. Laura sighs and brings a cup of orange juice to the table.

“Hey, no long faces,” she says, messing up Cooper’s hair, though Clint can tell she’s probably trying to give herself a pep talk as well as her son. “Nat and daddy will be back before you know it. It’s just a little trip, like always.”

Cooper looks less than convinced and still sad, but nods and plays with his eggs some more. Laura reaches over and picks up Lila who babbles happily while grabbing Laura’s hair.

“You guys want to come see dad and Nat off with me?” Laura asks and her son looks up with bright eyes.

“Yeah!” Cooper agrees enthusiastically. Lila claps excitedly and after breakfast, which lasts longer than usual, Laura gathers her children while Clint and Natasha gather their bags, and Laura drives them to the airport with a soundtrack of both loud Raffi music and Lila’s unintelligible words. Once they reach the passenger drop off area, they pile out and Clint smothers his children with kisses in the backseat of the car while Laura and Natasha attempt to steal a quiet moment to themselves.

“You’ll call, right? You’ll let me know when you get back?” Laura asks, running her hands over Natasha’s hair. Natasha leans into her palm.

“I will. I promise. Plus, Skype dates as usual.” She kisses Laura gently on the cheek just as Clint pulls his head out of the car, catching Natasha’s eye.

“Time to go, kiddos. Say goodbye to Nat.”

Cooper looks sad, but opens his arms as Natasha comes around for a hug, and then she reaches into the backseat to pick Lila up from her carseat, unbuckling her and holding the little girl close.

"Tash!"

Clint watches his daughter fold her arms around Natasha with a smile. “Still worried?” he asks softly, putting his hands on Laura’s shoulders. She bites her lip and nods.

“Yes,” she admits. “But I...I’m going to try to be okay. Maybe call my parents or Hannah and set up some plans to try to get my mind off things.”

“Good,” he says softly, kissing her deeply, two hands on either side of her cheeks. “Because I was serious. About being okay. I promise I’ll be home safe and sound before you know it.”

Laura smiles, her eyes watery, and Clint kisses her again before he pulls away. Natasha hands Lila over to Laura, and they pick up their bags together.

“See you soon,” Clint says, waving wildly.

“Love you, daddy!” Cooper calls out, blowing a kiss out of the minivan’s widow. Clint laughs and blows a kiss back, before they disappear into the terminal to check their luggage and claim their tickets.

Natasha buys them both coffee as they settle into their uncomfortable chairs at the gate, and once they’ve boarded the plane and have sufficiently gotten themselves comfortable in a two-seater, Clint tries to let his mind rest, staring out the window as they take off, focusing on the small mazes of Midwestern land and fluffy white clouds that seem to envelope the jet completely.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks softly, putting a hand on his arm and waving off a stewardess trying to ask if they want something to drink. (Clint notices she does accept the peanuts, though, handing them over).

“Nothing. It’s just...before I left, Laura was kind of worried.”

Natasha looks up in surprise. “What do you mean, kind of worried?”

“I dunno.” Clint takes the bag of peanuts and plays with the wrapping. “I mean, like, kind of freaked out. She told me she had a bad feeling about this whole assignment and seemed really out of sorts. And then she asked me not to go.”

Natasha looks down and studies her lap a little too intently. “Laura doesn’t normally get like that,” she says, playing with the strap of her seatbelt, and Clint nods grimly.

“Yeah. I know. Which is why it bothers me. This isn’t even a high stakes mission, this is just watching some scientists play with alien tech.” He rips open the package of food, dumping a handful of peanuts into his hand and then into his mouth.

“Do you believe her? About being worried for a reason?” Natasha asks from beside him, and Clint chews for a long time before swallowing.

“Maybe,” he admits, because he doesn’t know how to explain the fact that Laura’s words have been sitting in the back of his brain since he left home, nagging at a feeling he can’t quite place. “Kind of. I...I’m just being silly, right?” He glances over at Natasha. “I mean, we’re _both_ being silly, right? It’ll all be okay?”

“Clint.” Natasha reaches over and circles an arm around his waist as much as she can given the small, cramped space. “Of _course_ it will. I mean, I understand that you’re like, God’s gift to the world when it comes to having nine lives, but like you said, it’s just going to watch some scientists play with alien tech. Tech that, by the way, you probably won’t even be able to touch if Fury and Hill have anything to say about it, because they both know how you are with fragile objects.”

“Hey!” Clint shoots her a look and Natasha groans.

“I mean, really. It’s a bunker in New Mexico, not a detail in Russia. And the entire operation is under SHIELD jurisdiction, which means you’ll have ultimate protection while you’re there. What could go wrong?”

“Yeah,” Clint echoes, leaning into Natasha’s hold, feeling comforted by her words because there was something about Natasha being pragmatic and practical that always managed to soothe him. “You’re right.” He kisses her head, and then snuggles up against her body, for the moment forgetting where he is and where he’s going, relishing in feeling of just being able to be close to someone he loves.

“What could go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I took a few liberties with Dottie and what she might have been like after her time in the 40's...because, well, it's fun to imagine her stuck in a Captain America-like state. But I also loved the idea of exploring Dottie and Natasha in the 21st century.
> 
> For those of you who read regularly or semi-regularly, I'm aiming for weekly (or thereabouts) updates for the remaining few chapters that I have left of this monster. Continued thanks to everyone who keeps reading and commenting, your words feed my feelings and my soul and I am so, so grateful for your support.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com%22) for updates and more feels.


	19. 2014

To Natasha, D.C. is everything New York isn’t: bright and clean, shiny and perfect and pristine. There aren’t any cracks in the surface of the city the way there were even before Loki and war put chinks in Manhattan’s armor, there are no decrepit or worn seats on the subway, there’s hardly any trash on the streets, and the skyline is white and perfect and manufactured with all the right points and curves -- different than the view Natasha is used to, the jagged lines of the Empire State Building that stretch all the way down to the Chrysler Building and the newly constructed World Trade Center and beyond.

D.C. is everything New York isn’t because in addition to all of that, Natasha is here without Clint, who was still home with Laura supporting her through the continuing aftermath of her miscarriage. Combined with his still-healing psyche from New York and the fact that he wasn’t very open to the idea of picking up his bow again, it was a situation that didn’t exactly lend itself to making a good case for being back in the field. Natasha, on the other hand, couldn’t exactly run from work after she left the farm. But aside from a few solo missions or when one of them was too injured to be in the field, D.C. is the first time Natasha’s worked with someone besides Clint.

“I _said_ I was working alone,” Natasha fumes when she marches into Fury’s office at the Triskelion. The Director smiles, and if Natasha didn’t know any better, she’d think he was absolutely enjoying her anger.

“Yes, well.” Fury’s grin grows wider. “I seem to remember Barton coming in here and making a case for you a few years ago that you were a team player worthy of joining the Avengers. I figured we’d test that.”

“With _Rogers_ , of all people?”

“I didn’t hear you complain when we assigned you to the Stark detail a few years ago.”

“That was different,” Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms. “That was an undercover op, to keep a threat in check. This is making Strike Team Delta...fuck, I don’t know, Strike Team Goody-Two-Shoes.”

“Really, Romanoff? Strike Team Goody-Two-Shoes? That’s the best you can come up with?” Fury smiles more. “Has Barton’s terrible humor stopped rubbing off on you?”

Natasha ignores his cheeky tone, which only infuriates her more. “How long?” she challenges and Fury sighs.

“Undetermined.”

Natasha grits her teeth. “But not permanent, right?”

Fury shrugs. “Nothing lasts forever,” he answers mildly and the casual tone is more than enough for Natasha, who feels her fuse growing shorter and shorter. She turns on her heel and flounces out of the office, slamming the door behind her, hating that she doesn’t know this new building as well and therefore isn’t sure where to go to blow off steam -- or where to go to avoid her new partner, who she practically runs into halfway down the hall.

“Rogers.”

“Romanoff.” His tone is just as icy, and she eyes him as they stop in front of each other. She assumes he’d gotten the same message at the same time, and finds herself wondering if he’s on his way to talk to Fury for the same reason that she just stormed out of his office.

“I guess this is a...thing.” She can’t bring herself to say _partnership_ or even _team_ , because Clint is her partner and would always be her partner, even if he never set foot in the field again.

“I guess it is,” Steve says, all business and protocol. There’s an awkward spell of silence and Natasha thinks about all the times she’s told Clint she’s not really a team player. New York had changed that, but she still doesn’t feel comfortable working with someone who’s so different than the partner she knows and loves.

“See you at the briefing,” he says finally, walking away, and, _right_ , _briefing_. She groans to herself as he starts to head down the hall.

“Rogers!”

This time, he turns around almost immediately at her words, which she realizes have probably come out sharper than she’s intended.

“I think there’s a bar by the place I’m renting here, near Dupont Circle. If you want to grab a drink after the meeting.”

Steve stares at her for a long time and then lets out a long breath. “Thanks, but I’d rather just get the briefing done and get back to work. Social time outside of SHIELD is...not really my thing.”

 _So much for trying to be cordial. This is going to be a good relationship._ Natasha watches him walk away and fights the urge to scream, but manages to keep her temper under control long enough to finally find where the gym is hidden, five floors below the shiny new building, as far underground as SHIELD could make it. As soon as she enters, she kicks off her shoes and beelines to the nearest punching bag, giving it a beating worthy of what she had wanted to do to Clint when Loki possessed him years ago. She’s so wrapped up that she misses the door opening, and the soft tread of heels against the mats.

“You know, when I approached Barton about the Avengers Initiative a few years ago, I didn’t think you were ready to be a part of it.”

Natasha turns, wiping sweaty hair out of her eyes, and regards Maria Hill with a glare. “Are you here to bring me to my briefing and tell me to suck it up?”

Hill looks amused. “Not really. I’m here to join you. That is, if you want.”

Natasha stares at Hill for a long time, because she’s not sure what to say. Although Hill routinely kept to the background of most of their missions, Natasha knew enough about her history -- and had seen enough after New York -- to know that as tactical as she was on the ground, she was even better in the field, and could hold her own more capably than most SHIELD agents.

“Sure,” she says finally, going back to her assault on the punching bag. She watches out of the corner of her eye as Hill takes off her shoes and then she’s standing on the other side of the bag, hair pulled up into a small ponytail, punching in turn with a determined look.

“Sorry I’m not as good a match as Barton,” Hill says with a smirk as she throws a heavy punch at the bag. Natasha grunts as she returns the favor.

“You’re the first person here to apologize for that.”

“So I’ve heard.” Hill punches the bag again. “I didn’t put you on detail with Rogers, but if you want, I could send a message and get Barton to come back to D.C. I’m sure it wouldn’t take too much convincing.”

Natasha throws one more hard punch to the bag, before letting out a long sigh. “No,” she says, the fight starting to bleed out of her. “I don’t want him here. He needs to be with Laura. That’s his priority.” _And mine, too_. _But I don’t have the luxury of giving up my job to take care of her. My job is to do what I can do so he can be the husband he needs to be, and Laura wouldn’t have it any other way._ She looks down at the ground. “I’m just being selfish.”

Hill smiles gently. “I used to think you were selfish,” she offers. “It’s why I didn’t think you would make a good team member. The funny thing is, I wasn’t wrong. But as I found out, you’re selfish for reasons I never would have expected.”

Natasha lets her arms fall by her side and looks at Hill, seeing years of history reflected between them -- good and bad, angry and accepting, trustworthy and unsure. She sits down carefully on the mat, a complete show of letting down her guard, and Hill follows her lead.

“When I was twenty-two and I was recruited for SHIELD, they paired me with another agent right out of the Academy. His name was Jackson Riggs. He was an ex-Marine, like Clint, and was probably the most rash person I’ve ever met.” She grins, a show of friendliness that Natasha thinks she’s never seen, even though she’s closer with Hill than she is with most people, except for Laura. “I immediately knew why they put us together, aside from the fact we both outshone the ranks at the Academy in an almost laughable way.”

“Let me guess -- you kept him in line,” Natasha says and Hill shakes her head.

“No. He actually kept _me_ in line. I was...I liked SHIELD, but I didn’t think I belonged here, or with a partner, so I was kind of hard to work with for awhile. I didn’t consider a secret organization to be anything special, even though I was told it was. Anyway, we worked well together.”

“And then what happened?” Natasha asks curiously, tucking her legs underneath her, because she knows Hill has never mentioned this part of her life before. She hadn’t even known she’d _had_ a partner.

“He quit,” she says a little sadly. “About four years after we were partnered together. He took a hit in the field he couldn’t recover from, mentally. I tried my best to be there for him and tried to get him the help he needed, but it just wasn’t enough.” She stops talking and Natasha feels her eyes grow heavy as she thinks of Clint and Laura.

“I’m assuming they paired you with someone else, afterwards,” she says when she feels like she can speak without giving away her emotions, even though she’s not dumb enough to think Hill hasn’t made a connection between her words and Clint’s brainwashing.

“They didn’t, actually,” Hill says. “I was stubborn. I fought them on it and I gave them such a hard time that they agreed. So I went through the program alone, worked my way up from May’s S.O. and then became Acting Director, and then Deputy Director. It wasn’t bad, except...well, whenever I needed someone in the field, or needed someone to talk to, there weren’t many options.” She gives Natasha a sad smile. “Fury’s not exactly someone you can have an interpersonal relationship with, Phil was...Phil, and May had Garner, so she didn’t really need a girlfriend outside of her work. I’m glad Barton fought for you in the beginning. He didn’t want a partner, but he made it his mission to have you by his side. I think we all benefited from it.”

Natasha’s throat burns and she blinks quickly to hide her tears. “Yes,” she says quietly, suddenly missing Clint way too much. “We did.”

Hill nods slowly. “Rogers is a good agent,” she says after a beat. “He _will_ be difficult to work with, because you’re not used to him or his way of thinking. I know that, and I’m prepared for your complaints. And his, for that matter. But, I’ve stood by every decision Fury has made even when I didn’t like it, and he’s never steered me wrong.” She looks at Natasha pointedly, and Natasha lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ve never fought without Clint,” she says finally. “Unless it was a solo mission, or unless one of us was injured too badly. I don’t want to. I don’t...I don’t want to be with him.”

“I know you don’t,” Hill says gently. “And you know what? He doesn’t either.”

Natasha snorts. “I can tell, but I doubt he’s getting his own pep talk right now.”

“He might not need one,” Hill says with a small shrug. “The thing is, Natasha...he also may have more in common with you than you think. And Fury didn’t just put you two together because you worked well in New York.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out two small black and white photographs, handing them over. Natasha recognizes the lady in the photo, though she looks decades younger than the books and reports she’s read, and the clean-shaven, dark-haired man looks slightly familiar, but not familiar enough for her to put a name to a face.

“His name is James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky for short,” Hill says after a moment, watching Natasha look at the photos. “He was Steve’s best friend in the war and from childhood. I assume you know the woman.”

“Peggy Carter,” Natasha says slowly. “Founder of SHIELD.”

“And Steve’s first romantic love, whether or not he’d ever admit it to anyone,” Hill says casually while Natasha looks up in surprise. There had been a few notes in the reports she’d read on Captain America, but none of them mentioned anything more than a working relationship with Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos. Natasha swallows down an unexpected lump.

“What happened? To both of them?”

Hill nods towards the pictures. “Peggy is alive, as you probably know. She had quite the successful life after SHIELD, though her mind is going now. She’s in a nursing home in Alexandria. Barnes was killed in action during the war, after a Hydra raid.”

Natasha stares down at the photos. “Does he --”

“Know that you know about Barnes? About Peggy? Probably not. I don’t plan to tell him I gave up that information, and I’m sure he’ll just assume that you did your usual background snooping if you let on that you know,” Hill says smartly. “And before you ask, no, no one is going to tell him about Barton and his family -- that’s SHIELD business, and we take the safety of our agents seriously, especially after the events of New York. So, Natasha, you don’t owe Rogers anything except a professional, safe, working relationship.”

“Great,” Natasha mutters, handing back the photographs. Hill sighs.

“Look. Steve Rogers is human. He has people that care about him, even if they’re not here anymore. He’s more than just an icebox, the same way Barton once saw you as something more than an assassin with no agency and no roots.” She pauses. “It would do you well to remember how much it changed you to have someone treat you like a person, when everyone else saw you as someone they’d never want to be alone with.”

Natasha realizes Hill is right, and also that she doesn’t quite know how to answer. “This seems like the type of conversation we should be having over drinks, not in a gym,” she says. “But then again, I don’t know if you could keep up with my shot consumption.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Hill’s lips turn up and her eyes crinkle in a way that reminds Natasha a little of Laura. “Speaking of drinks, try your hand at asking him again a little later.”

“Why, so I can get shot down again?” Natasha asks sarcastically. Hill shakes her head.

“I have it on good authority that Rumlow is currently trying to give him a tour of the D.C. office. So let’s just say, after these next few hours, I think he’s going to want one. And he’s going to probably welcome the company of a teammate rather than an annoying tactical prick.” She winks at Natasha and then gets up, and Natasha finds herself smiling.

“See you at the meeting, Agent Romanoff.”

 

***

 

Eight months after her miscarriage, Laura brings up the subject during breakfast, while she’s flipping pancakes in the glow of a cold winter sun. Laura’s mother has taken the kids for morning errands, leaving Clint and Laura blissfully alone for a few glorious hours of silence and sanity.

“I’ve decided to go to therapy.”

She doesn’t see Clint’s face but she hears the dull thud as the chair he’s been leaning back on falls to the wooden floor, and the crinkling of the paper as it folds itself into messy, uncoordinated squares. When she turns around, he’s looking at her in both surprise and sadness.

“Now?”

Laura nods, turning off the stove and moving to the table to sit down. “Yes,” she says slowly. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. And I know I can function again...I know I’m not the person I was a few months ago. But I’m still scared, Clint. And I want to try again, eventually, but I’m _scared_. I don’t know how to get rid of that fear. I think...I think talking to someone might help.”

“You talked to me,” Clint offers. “And Natasha.”

Laura sighs in frustration. “Threesomes -- however good they are -- and talking to my husband and the woman I consider my wife aren’t the way I’m going to decide that I’m okay to have sex again and make another child,” Laura says. “You know that.”

Clint stares at her for a long time and although Laura can read him better than anyone, it still bothers her that she can’t quite read this specific expression. “I’m proud of you,” Clint says finally, his voice soft. “You know I didn’t even go to therapy after New York.”

Laura snorts. “Not for lack of trying,” she reminds him, and the awkwardness of a two year old conversation hangs in the air like a dark cloud. “Don’t think I’m not convinced you still don’t need it.”

Clint looks down at his hands, clenching his fingers. “I know. Natasha tells me that, too. I still have nightmares.”

Laura feels her throat well up because it’s not exactly new information, but she’s not about to push what had, at one time, resulted in frayed nerves and screaming. “So do I.”

Clint reaches over and grabs her fingers, squeezing them tightly. “Do you have someone already?”

Laura crushes her lip between her teeth, shaking her head. “My mom said she’d help find someone, though. And I still have that list they gave you from the hospital that I can look at.”

Clint nods slowly. “If you need help, you know I’m here.”

Laura offers a small smile, and adjusts his grip on her hand. “This isn’t a SHIELD related issue,” she says and Clint looks appalled.

“I wasn’t going to offer someone at SHIELD. Shit, you think I want them involved in my private life when I’ve spent so long trying to keep everyone off the grid? I just meant...look, if you need help. If you want help.” He swallows, finding her eyes. “I’m here. I’ve _been_ here. I know I’m like, the poster child for fucked up life experiences thanks to New York, but I promise you, Laura, I know what it’s like and I can help. If you want it.” He opens his arms and Laura can’t help herself, she gets up and allows him to hold her, curling up on his lap and pressing her face against his neck, her cheek resting against his pulse point.

“The kids have two parents who are screwed up,” she says softly. “One of them was brainwashed by an alien god. The other one lost a kid. Their third mother was put through the ringer as a child, she didn't even have a childhood.”

“And look at them,” Clint says, rubbing her back. “Cooper is smart, smarter than anyone. He knows all of his geography and can read middle school grade books. He’s a star in soccer and has a ton of friends and is always trying to learn more. Lila is beautiful and healthy and not even remotely bald like I thought she might be, and she’s already more developmentally advanced than most kids her age.”

Laura tries to smile, pulling back and meeting Clint’s eyes because this wasn’t how she wanted to break this news, either. Then again, she thinks blurting out unconventional topics of serious conversation when they both least expect it has become a part of their relationship.

“I think...it’s possible Cooper has some sort of learning disability,” she says softly. “The beginnings of one, at least. He’s smart, but he has a lot of trouble with homework, things that should be easy at his age, that I’ve noticed when we work together.” She takes a deep breath. “I haven’t said anything because I want to take him in for a session with someone at school before I worry about it, but --”

Clint cuts her off with a kiss and leaves his lips against hers for a long time before allowing them to break apart. “How long have you noticed?”

Laura hesitates. “Maybe...maybe a few weeks. I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want you to get upset, and then tell you about therapy. I --”

“Hey, hey.” Clint strokes her hair. “Laura, breathe. It’s okay.”

She doesn’t realize she’s almost hyperventilating, losing control of her words. She stops talking, taking a deep breath through her nose and letting it out slowly the way she remembers from birthing contractions.

“Okay?” he asks quietly, finding her eyes. Laura nods slowly as he puts a hand against her face.

“Okay,” she whispers, and Clint leans down and kisses her again.

“Now, listen to me. If Cooper needs help, we’ll get him help. He’s young, and lots of kids have learning disabilities at this age. It doesn’t make our kid any less smart or any less amazing. And no, it’s _nothing_ that you did by having that miscarriage, by not being there for him or watching him the way you would if you didn’t have anything going on, because I know that’s what you’re thinking right now.”

It is what she’s thinking, and she knows Clint knows her too well to think otherwise. “I just want to take care of him,” she says quietly, her voice breaking over the words. “He’s my...he’s our little boy.”

“And we’ll take care of him,” Clint says firmly. “We’ll talk with a few people and keep a close eye on his progress for the next few weeks. Or I will. _You_ will focus on going to therapy so that we can have another little boy. Or girl. At this point, I’m negotiable, since it’s been forever.”

Laura laughs through impending tears. “It’s been four years since Lila was born, Clint. That’s hardly forever.”

“Just saying. I do miss having an actual baby around to hold.”

“You say that now, as if you forgot three in the morning feedings and no sleep,” Laura teases gently. “Thank you,” she adds quietly, because she doesn’t know how to say anything else. Clint kisses her a few times and Laura doesn’t ask him to keep holding her, but he does, and she’s grateful.

Later in the week, Laura sits down with both her mom and Clint, narrowing down names and specialties before making a few phone calls. She decides on an older Jewish woman named Lillian Gertz, who Laura swears she didn’t pick just because the name reminded her of Lila. Clint watches when she calls to make sure she feels comfortable enough on the phone, and Laura schedules her first therapy session two weeks from when she tells Clint about her decision. A few days before, Clint approaches her while she’s standing at the window, lost in thought, holding a mug of tea.

“Do you want me to come?” Clint asks quietly. “To the appointment?”

She shakes her head sadly, taking a sip of tea. “I don’t think you can, anyway, unless you’re willing to sit in a waiting room or in a car. It’s not couple’s therapy, Clint.”

“Hey, I’m good at sitting in a car,” he protests, and she shoots him a look. “Do you want Natasha, then?”

Laura doesn’t answer and Clint picks up her cell phone, holding it out without a word. Laura hesitates before she takes it, punching in the familiar number, and Natasha arrives at the farm the next day with no bags but lots of warm, comforting hugs.

“It’s just therapy,” she says gently, bringing Laura hot chocolate infused with peppermint vodka as they sit outside on the porch watching the sunset later that night. “The most important thing with therapy is to remember why you’re doing this.”

Laura swallows, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. “So I can heal. So Clint and I can have another child, like we want to. So I can stop being scared.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says, thumbing the back of Laura’s palm with her free hand. “It’s not a setback. It’s just help.”

“Did you?” Laura asks, because she realizes she’s never wondered about it beyond a few fleeting thoughts when Clint showed her Natasha’s file so long ago. “Have therapy?”

Natasha gives her a sideways glance. “Yes,” she says after a long pause. “It wasn’t...I didn’t want it. Believe me when I say that I did not want to set foot into that office Clint showed me, because before that, I had spent a lifetime running from any kind of authority. But, it did help.” She takes a long sip of cocoa. “And...I went after New York.”

“Wait.” Laura furrows her brow, confusion spreading through her. “You...had therapy after New York? _You_ did and Clint didn’t?”

Natasha looks a little guilty. “I know. It’s fucked up. And I only went for a few months,” she admits, looking down at the cup she’s holding. “But I needed someone to talk to. Between him and you and everything that happened…I just needed someone to tell me that my feelings weren’t completely dumb. Also, let’s face it -- being the real mother of the house while you were kind of MIA was a crash course in _oh my god, what the hell am I doing_?” She smiles and in an instant, the mask of calm, confident Natasha -- the one that assures Laura about their relationship and tells Cooper that he can ace his math test -- is back. “So, Laura. If a cold-hearted, murderous assassin can go to therapy and come out on the other side, so can you. It doesn’t make you any kind of failure as a mother.”

“I guess not,” Laura says quietly and Natasha squeezes her hand.

“Clint told me about Cooper.”

Laura’s throat becomes dry. “It’s not...we don’t know if it’s anything yet,” she says. “We’re trying not to jump to conclusions.”

Natasha leans her head on Laura’s shoulder with a small sigh. “He’s a good kid,” she says. “A smart, good kid. Anything that might be holding him back, he’ll work through it, because he has two parents -- three, even -- who care about him more than anything. And none of it is your fault,” she continues. “You were allowed to be a mess for awhile.”

“Maybe,” Laura says softly, taking a drink. “But it doesn’t make the guilt of everything go away.”

“It doesn’t,” Natasha agrees. “And you can talk about all of that in the session that you’ll pay a lot of money for.” She kisses Laura on the base of her neck. “But if you need someone _else_ who you don’t have to pay a lot of money for, and someone who will just listen or give you a shoulder to cry on, I promise I’ll be here. Okay?”

Laura nods against Natasha’s warm, soft hair and closes her eyes.

In person, Lillian Gertz is just as kind as she’s seemed over the phone, and her office is warm and inviting with a plush tan couch, brightly colored pillows and hanging flower pots. Laura spends about forty-five minutes talking about her background, her miscarriage, and her reasons for making the choice to see someone, and when she returns to the car, she feels drained and exhausted.

“I cried a lot,” Laura says flatly as she opens the door and gets into the passenger seat. “I don’t cry when I’m talking about my life.”

Natasha squeezes her knee before turning the key in the ignition. “Then I’d say you had a very good session,” she says. “That means you got some feelings out.”

Laura groans, letting her head fall back against the seat. “I don’t know how I can do one of these a week. I won’t be able to function.”

“Yes, you will,” Natasha says smoothly. “For one, you’ll be scheduling them during the times your children are at school. That means that you don’t have to deal with them afterwards. And the more you go, the more comfortable you’ll feel talking about things, and the easier it will get.”

“I don’t know,” Laura says uncertainly, looking out the window. “I know I need to talk about these things...about how I feel. But at the same time, I just feel like I’m rehashing the same fears and insecurities I thought I had put to rest. Isn’t bringing them to the surface again just making it worse?”

“And what do you say when your husband has nightmares of the things he did while he was brainwashed?” Natasha asks bluntly, but her voice is gentle. “Sometimes, things stay with you, even when you think you’re over them. That’s not rehashing. That’s accepting, rather than pushing it all under the rug.”

“You sound like my session,” Laura mutters grumpily. “When did you become such a therapy guru?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Between Clint’s brainwashing and your miscarriage, I kind of had a lot of experience becoming the only one in this relationship who had any kind of stability for a little bit. Which is funny, when I let myself think about it.”

She has a point, Laura realizes as they continue to drive, stopping at Laura’s favorite coffee shop on Natasha’s tab before heading home. When she opens the door, she finds Clint entangled with Lila on the floor of the living room. Cooper has a scarf tied around his head like a bandit and is pretending to read some sort of statement of rights to his father and sister while sounding stern.

“What on earth are you doing to my four-year-old?” Laura asks as Lila looks up and giggles, exclaiming “hi, mommy! Hi, Nat!” in a loud toddler voice. Cooper, oblivious to the interruption and dedicated to the cause of playtime, pretends to pull back an imaginary bow, which almost makes Laura to laugh out loud.

“Erm.” Clint straightens up, a faint blush spreading across his cheek. “Y’know, just...playtime.”

Laura sneaks a glance at the haphazardly drawn SHIELD logo pasted onto Cooper’s arm via a piece of construction paper and sighs, because ever since New York, playtime had become a lot more complicated than just imaginary dragons or fairytales. But given the fact that Clint had visibly shied away from doing anything related to spending time with his kids following Loki’s attack, Laura feels like she can’t yell at him when it comes to willingly engaging like this.

“Dinner’s going to be early tonight,” she decides as she walks past the scene and into the kitchen. “Mommy’s tired, and daddy and Nat have to work. Lila, you can help set the table, if you want.”

“Wanna be with Nat!” Lila yells in response, breaking away from Clint and running into Natasha’s arms.

“Right, I forgot, when you’re here my child hates me,” Clint practically whines, and not quietly. Cooper frowns at his dad.

“I like you!”

“You’re about the only one in this house who appreciates me,” Clint says, high fiving his son and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she says under her breath. “She does not _hate_ you.” Natasha raises her voice as she holds out her arms. “Come on, Lila baby. Let’s go to your room and color. Aunt Nat had a long day, too.”

After Laura has served dinner (re-heated chicken leftovers and green beans because she’s decided that going to her first therapy session gives her a pass at trying to be a competent parent in other ways), Natasha settles the kids with _The Incredibles_ in the living room and Clint and Laura make dessert.

“I’m going to be working in D.C.,” Natasha tells Clint when she walks back into the kitchen. “With Steve.” Clint almost drops the two bowls of ice cream sundaes he’s made for his kids.

“ _What_?”

“Don’t act surprised,” Natasha says airly. “You _knew_ they were putting me back in the field after New York, and you knew it wasn’t going to be with you, because you’re not ready to be back yet.”

“Yeah, I did know that,” Clint says, his words clipped. “But... _Rogers_? And all the way in D.C.?”

Natasha shrugs. “The Triskelion is a nice facility. I spent some time there at the beginning of the year, before I came out here. And it’s not like SHIELD can put its roots down in Manhattan anymore, at least, not for awhile.”

Laura notices Clint winces at the mention and the memory. “Okay, but.” He puts the bowls on the table and wipes his hands on his jeans, where some chocolate has dripped off of the serving spoon. “ _Rogers_? For real?”

“Captain America?” Laura asks in confusion, finally feeling like there’s enough of a break to join the conversation. She liked what she knew of the Avengers, Bruce aside thanks to how he had acted in New York, but she didn’t know any more than what Clint had told her. For some reason, Natasha’s the last person she feels like she could see working alongside such a patriotic stalwart.

“Fury ordered it, and I’m a professional,” Natasha says levelly, looking at both Laura and Clint in turn. “Plus, the things he wants us to do are suited for our interests and skills. He’s a good soldier, but he’s got no idea how to do the whole spy thing, which I guess makes us a good match. And who knows, maybe I can teach him something about the twenty-first century that he doesn’t know.” Her lips turn up. “Personally, I’d much rather be here having sex with you and playing with dolls and puzzles, but I couldn’t exactly tell Fury that when he called me into his office.”

Clint’s frowning, ice cream bowls all but forgotten. “But Rogers --”

“What, are you worried that I’m going to fall for his goody-two-shoe charm and leave you in the dust?” Natasha asks and Clint narrows his eyes into two small slits.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Laura sighs, walking in between Clint and Natasha, a physical separation despite the fact they’re on other sides of the kitchen. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she says, crossing her arms. “Can you children please stop arguing long enough to get the _real_ kids their dessert before they enact World War III in our living room?”

Clint glares at Natasha and grabs the bowls off the table, and Laura rubs her eyes before walking up the stairs. She does go to the bathroom, but instead of returning to the living room, she finds herself walking to her own room instead, closing the door and sitting down on the bed.

She had been asked in therapy how many times she had cried over the child she lost, the one she didn’t even have a name for yet, and had been surprised to realize that she didn’t have an answer. She had cried multiple times after her miscarriage, what she thought was a period of mourning for what she had lost, but what she now knows was simply a period of emotional distress and overwhelming depression, natural when it came to the situation. In that respect, she hadn’t actually let herself grieve properly for what she had gone through, and, as Lillian had smartly assessed, _“you need to allow yourself to mourn before you can start to heal.”_

Laura looks around the room and tries to imagine a bassinet at the end of the bed, she closes her eyes and tries to remember Cooper as an infant when the farm was still new and shiny and mostly bare, borrowed furniture and mismatched sheets. She tries to remember Lila as an infant seven years later when the farm was worn and the floorboards were creaking and the bedroom was filled with furniture and books and love, more love than just hers and Clint’s, even if no one else could see it on the surface. She starts to cry, and soon realizes she can’t stop.

A small polite knock on the door, one that she knows is too sincere to be Natasha or Clint, drags her out of her pity party, and she wipes her face with some tissues from the bedside table before she opens the door.

“Mommy?”

“Hey, baby.” Laura tries to smile, crouching down to meet the height of her four-year-old. “What’s up?”

Lila’s small forehead devolves into wrinkles as she stares at Laura’s face. “Are you sad?”

Laura’s not quite sure how to answer, because she wants to lie, but she also feels like she’s so transparent right now that lying would just bring on more questions.

“A little bit,” she admits, opening the door wider and then closing it as Lila pads inside and sits on the bed, adjusting herself against the covers.

“Daddy and Tasha brought ice cream and we’re watchin’ the movie. Are you coming down to watch the movie?”

Laura swallows, trying to keep down more tears. “Maybe later,” she says after a moment. “Mommy needs some time alone. You can go back downstairs with daddy and Natasha, if you want, and eat your ice cream.”

Lila looks down at the bed and bites her lip, looking pensive. “Tasha says when you’re scared, cuddling makes you feel better,” she says smartly. “That’s what she does to me when I’m sad and scared. Do you need cuddles?”

Laura blinks, feeling two tears fall down her cheeks that she can’t stop. “I do,” she says softly as she sits down next to her daughter, picking up Lila and putting her on her lap. Lila curls into Laura’s chest, resting her head against Laura’s heart.

“Can you stay here with me and keep mommy company for a bit?”

“Yes,” Lila says solemnly. “Because I love you!”

Laura hugs Lila more tightly, closing her eyes and letting her daughter’s words soothe her, wishing she could tell her how much it means to hear them out loud.

“I know, Lila baby. I love you too.”

_***_

 

Natasha’s sitting across the table from Steve Rogers in his Alexandria apartment, going over paperwork and reports, when her phone rings quietly from inside her pocket.

She ignores it, figuring it’s Clint, and that whatever dumb thing he had to tell her could wait; she feels slightly guilty when she wonders if it’s Laura calling to tell her something about the kids but she knows she can’t take those kind of calls here. After awhile, the ringing stops, and even though she waits for the inevitable question, it doesn’t come.

“What, you got a secret admirer?” Steve asks when the phone rings again, and Natasha inwardly cringes. She finally glances down at the screen, double-taking subtly when she realizes it’s not Clint’s cell or Laura’s cell, but the landline of the farm.

“I gotta take this,” she says, getting up and walking away from the couch. She finds Steve’s small bathroom and locks herself inside, flicking on the overhead fan before getting in the shower and pulling the curtain closed for good measure -- because Steve’s serum senses were only slightly better than Clint’s, though not by much.

“Hello?” Natasha asks in a low voice when she finally answers the call, and there’s a high-pitched giggle on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Auntie Nat!”

“Lila?” Natasha feels her brow furrow, crouching down in the tub.

“Auntie Nat! Hi, Tasha!”

“Hi, Lila baby,” Natasha says with a small smile, trying to infuse her voice with a more positive emotion than surprise. “Does your mom know your calling?”

“Mommy’s cooking!” Lila says proudly. “Daddy’s sleeping. What are you doing?”

Natasha glances up at the silver shower head, suddenly realizing how ridiculous this whole situation seems. “I’m getting ready to go out,” she says after a moment.

“Where do you go?” Lila asks expectantly and Natasha realizes she’s not going to get out of this conversation as easily as she hopes she will.

“I go to a lot of places,” Natasha answers. “A lot of restaurants and fun stores in New York. You know New York, right?”

“Apples!”

“Yes,” Natasha says with a small nod, figuring if that’s all Lila has gotten out of the _New York For Kids_ coloring book Natasha had gotten her as a birthday gift, at least the fourteen dollar price tag from the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s gift shop had been worth it. “Apples. Why did you call me, Lila?”

“Lila misses Nat!” There’s a pause, and then Lila speaks slowly into the phone again. “Lila wants Nat to come home.”

Natasha feels her heart ache, and she closes her eyes. “I’ll be home soon, baby girl. I promise. I have to work, first. You know how I go to work and go away and then come home when I’m done?”

“And you bring presents! Nat, guess what I found today?”

“What?” Natasha asks, figuring she can indulge the little girl, as anxious as it makes her to know that Lila’s calling unconventionally, and most likely with no one knowing.

“I found a baby rabbit and mommy said we could feed it like a pet!”

“Oh, really?” Natasha teases. “Well, mommy has some very interesting rules when it comes to pets.”

“Come home and kiss daddy,” Lila proclaims next and Natasha feels her face pale at the words which seemingly come out of nowhere.

“That’s mommy’s job,” she responds smoothly, wondering if she should tell Laura or Clint about Lila’s words. They had been particularly careful following Clint’s recovery and Laura’s miscarriage in how they interacted around the house, though Natasha knows there are occasions where all of them have slipped at some point. “Hey, Lila, can you wake your dad up for me? I have something important I need to tell him.”

“And then Tasha comes home?” Lila asks hopefully.

Natasha thinks of Steve, and of their upcoming missions, and sighs quietly as emotional pain courses through her.

“And then Tasha will come home,” she agrees as Lila lets out a small giggle. “Now, find your dad for me, okay?”

Natasha stretches out in the tub, waiting as Lila’s feet pound against the stairs. She visualizes the moments as they happen -- Lila putting small hands on the bedroom door, pushing it open, jumping on Clint’s side of the bed where her partner is presumably napping, probably snoring with his mouth open.

“Ugh, Lila...what? Okay, okay...hang on. Go see mommy, okay?” There’s another loud grunt and then the sound of the door closing. “Hello?”

“Clint.”

She can practically hear him snap awake over the phone the moment she speaks.

“ _Tasha_? What -- why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“I’m not calling,” Natasha says impatiently. “For your information, your _daughter_ just called me. From the house.”

“What…” Clint trails off, and then groans into the phone. “Ugh, shit. Cooper must have shown her that number you gave him when you guys talk. I wasn’t aware she needed to gossip at age four, though.”

“It’s not funny, Clint!” Natasha wishes she was in front of her partner so she could smack him accordingly. “You’re lucky I only had to deal with Steve in his apartment. What would’ve happened if I was in the field?”

“Well, that’s easy. You just don’t pick up,” Clint responds in a practical tone.

“No,” Natasha says in frustration. “I don’t pick up your cell phone or Laura’s cell phone. But if you call from the farm? I pick it up because I don’t know if it’s one of you calling me to tell me the house has burned down, or if it's Cooper calling to tell me that you’ve hit your head on some beam and fallen off the roof and killed yourself while Laura’s taking a bath. You know that.”

Clint sighs again, and Natasha can hear him shifting on the bed. “I’ll yell at Coop about responsibility stuff and then have a talk with Lila about proper telephone etiquette,” he says after a moment. “Speaking of my daughter, are you coming to her dance recital at the end of the month?”

“I’ll see if I can fit it in between superhero avenging and getting my nails done,” Natasha says sarcastically. “Of course I’ll be there, Clint.”

“Just wanted to make sure that Rogers hasn’t stolen you away or anything,” Clint says. “You know, Mr. Star Spangled Man With A Plan and all. He was on posters as a kid. I wasn’t.”

“If you _seriously_ think I’m going to fall for Steve Rogers, the ninety-five year old possible virgin when between you and Laura I can get the best sex in the world, you really need a reality check,” Natasha responds bluntly. Clint snorts.

“Like I said. Just making sure.”

“You’re an idiot.” Natasha closes her eyes briefly. “Tell Lila I said goodbye, and that I love her.”

“What about me?” Clint asks with a fake trembling voice. “I love you, too.”

“ _You_ are a pain in my ass,” Natasha responds. “You’re not four years old, either. Also, I love you. Now go yell at your daughter like a normal parent and let me get back to trying to be an Avenger.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint says in mock hurt as Natasha rolls her eyes, hanging up the phone. She gets out of the tub and slides the phone back in her pocket before exiting the bathroom.

“Who was that?” Steve asks when she gets back to the living room. He’s abandoned his work, and is putting a frozen pizza in the microwave in the small kitchenette area adjacent to the couch.

“Girlfriend,” she says with a smirk, leaning on the island countertop that acts as a bar table. Steve rolls his eyes.

“You know, you don’t have to hide your conversations with Barton from me,” he says as he hits some buttons. “I’d rather know if he’s not happy we’re working together than get talked about behind my back.”

“It’s not that,” Natasha says a little too sharply. “Honesty, Steve. Barton doesn’t give a crap that we’re working together. He needs the time off, and he’s not suited for these missions anyway.”

Steve gives her a wary look, and Natasha can tell he doesn’t believe her.

“Where’s my pizza?” Natasha asks after a moment. “I mean, I _did_ just do dozens of impressive calculations to ensure that we had the budget to jet to France for no reason.”

“Is this how you treat Barton?” Steve asks grumpily as he goes to the fridge and removes another box of pizza.

“No,” Natasha replies honestly. “If it was Barton, I’d probably just take your lunch and eat it myself. I’m being nice.”

“I wasn’t aware the Black Widow could be _nice_ ,” Steve says sarcastically, and Natasha finds herself smiling. Working with Steve was proving to be a different experience than working with Clint; she liked the guy okay but New York hadn’t given her a lot of time to connect with him other than on a professional level. When Fury had tasked them together, she had abhorred the idea of working with someone that seemed so practical and by-the-book and serious. Clint was the same way -- practical, by-the-book serious -- but he was also _Clint_ , and he knew her, and that was something no one else could be.

But Steve had more hidden up his sleeve than he let on. He was sarcastic and he could match her dry wit, he was smart enough to know how to navigate the field, and he had just enough distrust to be wary of things that might be compromising, a good balance for her overly untrustworthy feelings.

“Well, it’s the truth,” she says finally, fingering the chain of the arrow necklace she hasn’t taken off since after Budapest, except during New York when she found out Loki had taken her partner and had realized it was unsafe to have her heart on display so prominently. “Besides, the truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things, to all people, all the time.” She feels a warmth rise up in her belly as the cool metal slides over her skin and she thinks of Clint and Laura and Cooper and Lila, of a farmhouse filled with love and comfort, built up with all the foundations of trust and history that once upon a time, she thought she might never have a place in. Natasha was someone who thrived on secrets, who relished in keeping parts of herself locked up from the world and other people, and she had many things that were packed away from the world. But this particular one, the one that was hers and no one else’s, the one that wasn’t part of her past but made her real and loved and whole, was something that she guarded with her life and something she never wanted to expose.

“And neither am I.”

_***_

 

 _SHIELD fell._ That’s all Laura can think about after Clint tells her the news, and after the cryptic phone call from Natasha. There had been nothing else, and Laura has tried to forget about it, but it’s a hopeless task -- and Clint isn’t doing much better, as Laura catches him lying awake at night, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling until he finally rolls over and his breathing evens out. She wants to stroke his hair, she wants to cry and tell him it’ll be okay and that she understands, but the truth is, she’s not sure she does. She’d had things fall apart before -- she’s even lost her own child. But losing an entire organization and identity was something that seemed unfathomable, and she wasn’t even the one affected.

“Dad!” Cooper’s voice rings out, loud and excited, from the living room the next night while Laura is gathering supplies for dinner and Clint is tying up the trash. “Planes are crashing on TV!”

Laura shoots Clint a look and they both move quicker than they should, stumbling over Lila’s discarded toys to reach the television. Clint stops in his tracks, Laura almost crashing behind him, and she steadies herself by grabbing Clint’s arm while her eyes take in the scene before her: one large looking military plane careening sideways through the sky, clipping a tall building in an explosive array of metal and glass. Debris falls everywhere -- from the sky and around the screen -- and Laura feels sick at the visions that remind her so much of September 11th. Clint’s gone white beside her, his mouth hanging half open.

“Is that...”

Clint doesn’t answer, but one quick glance at his face is all she needs to know, to confirm what he’s _not_ saying.

“I’m calling Nat,” Laura declares, swallowing down the tremor in her voice and the fact that Clint’s too in shock to stop her scares her more than it should. She picks up the phone and dials both of Natasha’s cell phone numbers, and there’s no answer, because of course there isn’t -- because Laura can’t imagine that anyone who might be in the middle of what’s going on right now is going to stop and idly pick up a phone call, even someone like Natasha.

“No answer,” she says tightly, clutching the phone in her right hand. Clint’s eyes haven’t left the television screen.

“If she wasn’t okay, we would know,” Clint says under his breath, low enough so that Cooper can’t hear, but Laura notices he looks more than a little worried -- she can tell by the way his eyes are clouding. She takes another breath to steady herself.

“Mommy, now planes are falling from the sky!”

 _The things I need to explain to my children_ , Laura thinks as she walks forward, sitting down next to Cooper. _A miscarriage. Daddy’s constant injuries. A plane crashing into a building_.

“Hey.” Cooper’s eyes narrow suddenly. “Isn’t that Tasha?”

Laura’s eyes narrow, until she can faintly make out the visual of someone in a black suit, with wild red hair, who is leaning out of a tilted helicopter. Laura thinks that any other time, she might’ve made a joke about how Cooper may not have any interest in archery, but he had absolutely inherited his dad’s eyesight and penchant for picking up even the smallest of details, from things at school to animals on the road.

“Come on, Coop.” She rubs his shoulder. “No more of this.” She looks at Clint, who reaches over and shuts off the television, though Laura knows he doesn’t want to. _He has other ways, at least, to get information_ , she thinks before she realizes with a jolt that if all of this is true, he might not. “You wanna help mommy finish making dinner?”

“I thought Lila was gonna help,” Cooper says a little cagily, sitting back on his hands and Laura knows her son isn’t dumb enough to pick up on the fact that she’s changing the subject and not answering his question.

“She’ll help, too. There’s enough stuff for both of you to do. Come on.” Laura gets to her feet and holds out a hand, pulling her son up and leading him into the kitchen. She knows exactly what she’s doing, because it’s what she’s always done when she needs to distract herself from a situation, but there’s no way she can sit here and worry about Natasha and let herself fall apart. That would be for later, if she could allow it.

“I’m going to go get Lila and finish some paperwork,” Clint says conversationally as Laura disappears and she hears the inflection in his tone. She knows what he’s really going to do is find information, maybe make a few calls, but she can’t let herself feel optimistic about anything. Instead, she busies herself with instructing Cooper on how to peel potatoes, letting Lila crack eggs when she comes down from her bath, and while the food is warming and her children are busy setting the table, Laura goes upstairs under the guise of getting changed.

“Nothing,” Clint says as soon as she walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, safely encasing them in the room. He’s sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone with one finger. “Nothing on our usual channels, at least.”

Laura breathes out slowly, feeling like she wants to pass out. “Do you...do you think…”

“No,” Clint says curtly, throwing the device on the covers. “Like I said, if something happened to Nat, we would know. I haven’t been her partner for over ten years for nothing.”

“And I haven’t been your wife for over ten years for nothing,” Laura responds, stripping off her shirt and trading it for a tank top so her kids can’t call her too much of a liar. “I want to believe you. But I don’t know how I can. Clint, SHIELD…”

“Is gone,” Clint finishes abruptly. “I know, Laur. Nothing we can do about it.” He gets up and walks out of the room, closing the door a little too hard behind him, and Laura blinks quickly against impending tears. She knows Natasha, and she knows Natasha doesn’t let herself get taken down easily by anything or anyone, but it’s not going to stop her anxiety from running rampant -- if nothing else because she also knows her husband, who is going to take this harder than he’ll admit to. Laura closes her eyes, placing a hand on her stomach before getting up and joining him downstairs.

Laura and Clint both elect to read to their children and tuck them into bed later that night; Clint won’t tell her why he wants to suddenly make sure he’s involved in bedtime rituals more than usual but Laura knows it’s because he needs to reassure himself that his family and his kids are safe. For once, she’s not going to roll her eyes over the paranoia that she always jokes follows him home after finishing work.

“Is Auntie Nat okay?” Lila asks as Laura settles her in with a book. Before Laura or Clint can respond, Cooper speaks up.

“Her plane crashed on TV.”

“Cooper!” Laura says sharply as Lila’s eyes fill with tears, her face crumpling, the very picture of a small child’s terror at being bluntly told a horrible thing.

“Sorry.”

Laura ignores her son momentarily as she smoothes down Lila’s hair. “Don’t listen to your brother, Lila. Aunt Nat is okay, I promise.” _I hope_. “Your brother saw another thing on TV.”

Cooper gives his mom a side eye and Laura gives him one back, and when Cooper looks a little guilty Laura knows she’s at least made a little bit of her scolding clear. “I was kidding,” he says after a long pause, looking at Lila. “Aunt Nat’s fine, just like mom said.”

Lila still looks a little shaken but nods, clutching Brownie more tightly as Laura begins to read while Clint sits with Cooper and helps him read his newest book. By the time Laura’s gotten through most of _Gus, The Dinosaur Bus_ , Lila’s back to her happy, excitable self, pointing out pictures and giggling at each page turn.

“Another?” Lila asks helpfully as Laura closes the book. “Not that tired!”

Normally, Laura knows she would put her foot down, kiss her daughter goodnight and try to instill the idea that asking questions like this does _not_ automatically equal getting what you want, especially at bedtime. But she makes a quick decision given the situation and opens the book back up, re-reading as Lila snuggles into her arms, while Clint finishes reading with Cooper and tucks him in.

“Still not tired,” Lila informs Laura as she closes the book again. Laura smiles gently and shakes her head.

“Two stories is more than enough, you little trickster,” she says, reaching over and tickling Lila on her stomach until she giggles and writhes under the covers. Laura re-tucks her back into bed, puts the book on the nightstand, and leans over to kiss her daughter.

“Goodnight, Lila baby,” she says before getting up, walking over to Cooper as Clint trades off with goodnight hugs and kisses. Clint immediately starts tickling Lila the same way Laura had been, and Laura smiles walking to herself as Cooper hugs her, because she’d normally yell at Clint about riling up their children before bedtime. Tonight, though, she feels like she can give him a pass.

“Taking a shower,” Laura says quietly as they exit the bedroom, and she squeezes his hand briefly before retreating to the bathroom. Once alone, she puts her forehead against the door, breathing in and out slowly while tears prickle at the corner of her eyes.

The discussion that had ended in them deciding to have another child had only happened a few days before Natasha’s phone call. Laura thinks of the way Clint’s eyes had lit up when she sat up in bed and told him the news, that she was ready to start trying again -- the way she had felt his heart start beating faster when she hugged him, the way his face had been streaked with tears as he asked her over and over again if she was sure.

 _“We won’t lose it this time,”_ he had whispered against her hair. _“I’m going to make sure of it.”_

She knew he was talking about things he couldn’t control, but she didn’t care, because this was a second chance -- and it was supposed to be a second chance for all of three of them. Cooper had been revealed prematurely, at a time when both of them weren’t prepared, Lila had been more inclusive but Natasha had still been working through too many feelings to enjoy it properly. This third child, Laura knew, would be different -- born into a world where three people already loved and nurtured each other, and they would _each_ have an equal say in how to love and care for him or her.

“Please be okay, Nat,” she whispers against the door, her eyes burning. “We don’t want to do this alone.”

She stays in the shower for a little longer and by the time Laura gets herself to bed, Clint’s already asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep. But he doesn’t move when Laura pulls down the covers, and so she closes her eyes, surprised when his arm snakes around her waist.

“Long shower.”

Laura swallows tightly. “I was thinking,” she says quietly. “I was tired.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Clint says in the same quiet voice and Laura turns over, staring at the ceiling.

“I keep thinking about her,” Laura says finally, shifting so that she can meet his eyes. “If she’s okay. If she’s scared. If she needs our help, but she can’t tell us that she does. I know Natasha doesn’t need those things, not all the time, but what if…”

“What if,” Clint murmurs, stroking her hair, and from the way his hands are moving she can tell that the motion is to reassure himself as much as her. “All I’ve been asking myself since I got that phone call.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” She turns over, realizing she’s never bothered to ask the question, and it’s something she’s honestly curious about. “Life without Nat?”

It seems to take Clint awhile to figure out what she means by her question. “Yes, and no,” he admits. “I don’t try to. But there are times when I have to remember what it would be like if I had to do this on my own.” He huffs out a laugh. “Aside from the survival thing, I don’t know if I could.”

“Because of the job?” Laura asks curiously, and Clint shakes his head.

“Because this is the type of profession -- well, it _was_ the type of profession -- that will eat you up and chew you alive, and then spit you back out in ten different pieces unless you have someone you trust by your side.” He sighs quietly. “There are people who work alone, and I always thought I’d be one of them. Until I met Nat. And you know when I say she saved my life --”

“I know,” Laura says, cutting him off, because suddenly it seems too much like they’re already talking in the past tense. “Because she did the same thing for me.” She leans over, kissing him gently, and Clint kisses her back, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck, his lips soft where they trail over the rest of her skin, one hand brushing under the hem of her pajama pants. His fingers slip below the waistline at the same time a loud buzzing noise interrupts them from across the room, and Laura jumps, causing Clint’s fingers to jerk against her stomach. He sits up in confusion, then tumbles out of bed and grabs for the phone that’s been sitting on the desk, where it continues to vibrate noisily against the wood.

Laura watches Clint as he takes it and stands in silence, keeping his back to her, his shoulders tense around the scars that frame his spine like a spread of angel wings. She tries to speak, and instead finds her mouth dry, until she swallows enough to make her words sound less raspy.

“Clint?”

“She’s okay,” Clint says in a shaky voice, turning around and holding out the phone, which Laura sits up to grab. There’s a garbled message on it, something that looks more like numbers than letters and Laura has no idea what it is or what it means, but she also instantly knows it’s something that means Natasha’s fine. Laura bites down on a sob as Clint sits back down, burying herself in his arms.

“She’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking Laura’s hair. “She’s okay. She’ll be home soon.”

Laura remembers what Natasha had told her once, so long ago, when Clint was hurt -- _it’s okay to let him see you like this_ \-- and openly starts to cry.

 

***

 

The day after Natasha returns to the farm, Laura finds her in their bedroom, shirt off and staring at her upper body in the mirror, seemingly lost in thought.

“You need that changed?” Laura asks as she approaches, her eyes lingering on the large white bandage stretched over her shoulder, the one that’s beginning to look more than a little worn. Natasha smiles tightly into the mirror, before turning around.

“I’m okay.”

Laura gives her a look. “If I had a nickel for every time Clint said _I’m okay_ when I asked about an injury, we could afford another home,” she replies, holding her hand out. “Come here.”

Natasha smiles, pulling up her hair as she starts moving to the bed, and Laura sits down next to her.

“You don’t know what it meant to him when he realized you hadn’t taken it off,” she says, her fingers brushing over the chain of the arrow necklace. “He thought you had left it here when you went to D.C.”

“I thought about it,” Natasha admits. “But I wanted a piece of him with me. And you. I wore it every day.”

“I’m sure no one asked about why you were carrying around a very subtle piece of jewelry,” Laura teases, letting her hands settle on her shoulders. Natasha laughs quietly.

“Believe it or not, they didn’t. Or, if they did, they knew asking would get them nowhere. The Black Widow doesn’t give up her secrets like that.” She lets her hands drop, her hair swinging back down to cover the back of her neck, and Laura immediately runs her hands over the flame-colored strands that are, thankfully, more curly than straight.

“I told you, it’s too long,” Laura says, eyeing her scalp. “And I hated it so straight.”

“I know,” Natasha says with a small sigh. “Me too. I’ll cut it soon, I promise.”

“Maybe you should let my daughter do it,” Laura suggests with a wink as she places a kiss against Natasha’s collarbone, her fingers skirting underneath the strap of her bra, and Natasha makes a small noise.

“I’d actually trust her. She’s got the steadiest hands I’ve ever seen for a kid.”

“Wonder where she gets that from,” Laura teases as she reaches for the edge of the bandage. She half-expects the other girl to shift away, even though Natasha’s earlier response was as much of a consent as Laura knows she’s going to get, but Natasha remains still, even when Laura starts her work.

“Jesus,” Laura says quietly once she’s peeled the bandage away, the closest look at the wound she’s been able to see since Natasha first revealed it. “Whoever this guy was, he really did a number on you.”

“Would you believe I’ve had worse?” Natasha asks sarcastically and Laura thins her lips.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She runs her hand gently over what’s becoming blurred scar tissue. “Stay here, I’ll get some supplies.”

She gives Natasha a quick kiss before making her way to the bathroom, rummaging under the sink and shoving aside rubber duckies and various bath toys until she finds her first aid kit, returning to the bedroom. Natasha flinches as Laura starts to carefully clean a build-up of what has become dried blood and scar tissue.

“Did you ever think you’d be doing this?”

“Living on a secret farm, raising two kids with a husband who shoots a bow and arrow alongside super soldiers? Sleeping with both my husband and his very attractive but sometimes _equally_ as worrisome partner?” Laura shakes her head, gently dabbing a wet cloth against Natasha’s skin. “Not exactly what I signed up for when I chose to be a chemistry major at Iowa State.”

“No,” Natasha says slowly, her breathing evening out. “Not _this_ , literally. I mean, this life of always waiting. Always patching everything up, even when it’s too much for you. At some point, maybe you wonder if this is worth it. But you keep doing it, because Clint’s fighting for something, and so you fight for him.”

Laura continues working, though she falls quiet following Natasha’s words. “I was frustrated, at first,” she says softly, watching blood and scabbed skin come off on her hands. “Angry. Confused. Especially when he came home hurt and wouldn’t tell me how or why he got injured. Now…” She trails off, staring at Natasha’s wound, feeling her chest ache. “Now, I love doing this. Because it means you’re not dead. And I never thought this part of the deal would be my life. But I’m glad it is, because it beats the alternative.”

Natasha reaches up with the arm attached to her good shoulder, catching Laura’s fingers. “You’re going to hear things,” she says after a moment and Laura meets her eyes, confused.

“Natasha, what --”

“I don’t know when,” Natasha interrupts. “Or how. But you’re probably going to hear things about me, and about what happened when I was working. And I just...I need you to know that I love you. And him. And the kids. And that no matter what you hear, you’re safe. I can vouch for it.”

Laura squints, carving a deep crease in the space between her eyebrows. “Nat --”

She’s cut off by a loud crash, followed by a door slam, followed by heavy footsteps that Laura identifies as belonging to her husband, before Clint angrily yanks open the door to their bedroom.

“He got upset because I wouldn’t let him go swimming with his friend later,” Clint says by way of explanation, before Laura can even ask. “And then he threw a fit, called me a terrible dad, and ran to his room.”

Laura sighs, unsure if she’s annoyed or relieved that the current mood has been broken. “Let it go, Clint. He’ll calm down.”

Clint grunts but Laura can tell that he’s _not_ going to let go anytime soon. She reaches for a fresh bandage and pastes it over Natasha’s skin, securing it tightly and kissing the non-maimed part of her shoulder gently before letting her up.

“I really shouldn’t let you baby me so much,” Natasha says, her eyes straying to Clint, who’s now standing in front of her with his hands on his hips. “ _Both_ of you.”

“Hey, you know the rules: you come into our house hurt, you get taken care of,” Clint says a little abruptly, in a tone that Laura can tell indicates he’s still not entirely okay with the fact Natasha had gone through so much alone while she was away. It’s not a conversation that Laura’s about to force them into having, however; she knows that can be taken care of in their own time, and in other ways -- sparring sessions, late night talks on the porch, even sex. Laura knows that Clint and Natasha may represent the world’s worst communicators on occasion, mostly when either one of them was being stubborn, but Laura also knows they have an interpersonal relationship that’s unparalleled.

“Enough,” Laura says quietly, looking from one to the other. “Clint, go check on Cooper, please. Ask him to think about why he got upset and let him talk it out so that he knows and recognizes what he did wrong. Make sure he apologizes to you. Nat, come downstairs, I have stuff that you can help me with.” She leaves without waiting for either of them to respond, only turning around when she’s halfway down the stairs, surprised to find Clint behind her.

“You really _can’t_ follow any rules, can you?”

“Natasha’s coming,” he defends. “After she gets changed. But I wanted to talk to you.”

Laura eyes him. “Fine,” she says, continuing to walk down the stairs. “What about?”

Clint moves past her, until they’re both standing in the living room. “Fury told her to lay low, and that includes both of us, so she’s going to stay here for awhile.”

“Why is this even an issue?” Laura asks curiously, crossing her arms. “She has her own room. If she wanted to _live_ here at any point, she could.”

“I know that,” says Clint shortly. “But I don’t think she told you what happened with this Hydra thing.”

“She --” Laura stops, thinking back to their conversation in the room, the strange way Natasha had suddenly shifted gears as if she was trying to give Laura a casual warning. “No. She didn’t.”

Clint nods, his eyes flitting to the staircase. “Part of her...job, I guess, involved dumping a few thousand files onto the web from SHIELD’s servers. Information that would reveal all of the secrets this organization had been hiding over the years, but also, things about her own past and my past and things from our partnership that we had kept confidential. Things in particular that she or I or SHIELD would have never wanted the public to know.”

Laura’s eyes widen suddenly. “That’s why she said that.”

Now it’s Clint’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“In the bedroom,” Laura says, nodding towards the stairs. “She told me I was going to hear things about her. And about what she did. But that --” Laura sucks in a breath as another thought hits her, the momentum of it hitting her with enough force to make her stumble. “Clint, please tell me --”

“No,” he says firmly, reaching out and grabbing her hand, pulling her in against him. “Nothing about you, or us, was anywhere in those files. Fury kept his promise about keeping us off the grid, and I believe him. And I trust Natasha when she said nothing was in there.” He kisses the top of her head. “We’re all safe.”

“Are we?” Laura asks quietly, and Clint sighs.

“Well, I’m relatively sure that no one’s going to come after us right now. Except maybe news crews who want to suddenly know what the Black Widow is hiding. If they can even track her here.” He smiles faintly, before his lips drop. “But you need to be aware of what she’s going through. What _we’re_ going through, if she stays here.”

Laura nods at the words Clint doesn’t say out loud. _You have to be aware that you might not understand how to fix things this time, and she might not know how to fix things, either._

“Do you?” She looks up at him. “Know how to fix things?”

Clint bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he admits. “All I can do -- all _we_ can do -- is give her the home she needs right now. She lost everything, Laura. Everything that she ever put her life into identifying with...it’s all been burned to the ground, and she was the match that lit the fire.” He glances up the stairs. “This is the only place, I think, that she can think of as real. We’re all she has left.”

Laura swallows, suddenly wanting nothing more than to hold her children close; it’s days like today where she’s grateful for the times that either Cooper or Lila tend to be more clingy than usual, crawling into her lap or hugging her leg.

“I wanted to tell her that we decided to have another kid,” she says softly, putting her hand on her stomach. “I wanted to see her face when we told her that we had made that decision. Now…” She looks up, blinking back tears, and Clint winces, guilt washing over his face.

“I...she might know about that.”

Laura’s mouth opens, and she feels herself grow annoyed. “ _Clint_.”

“I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he apologizes off of Laura’s look. “I know you wanted to tell her, I know...it just came out when she was telling me about all this Hydra stuff, and I couldn’t stop it.”

Laura gives him a hard stare, and then shakes her head. “It wasn’t just about me breaking the news. I didn’t think it was the right time, after all she’s been through.”

“It wasn’t the right time with me, either. When you told me about being pregnant with Cooper,” Clint reminds her, and Laura finds herself half-smiling as she remembers the two in the morning conversation that had been born out of Clint’s hesitancy of Fury coming to recruit him. “And it wasn’t the right time after Lila’s birth, when Natasha wanted to tell you about how she couldn’t have kids. But she was so happy, Laur. Her face...she was so happy for you, when she found out.”

Laura nods slowly. She’d never thought she’d put the words _Natasha_ and _happy_ in the same sentence when it came to children, especially after how she had reacted when Lila was born. But for some reason, the little girl had imprinted on Natasha in a way that Laura sometimes still couldn’t understand, except for the fact that she had been practically living at the house during most of Lila’s early life in a way she had never done with Cooper. Lila wasn’t Natasha’s by blood, or even by any kind of artificial insemination, but Laura can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that the little girl thought of her as a mother.

“I wanted this one to be hers,” she admits quietly. “After she told me about what happened to her, after Lila was born...I wanted it to be _ours_. But we never had that conversation. I knew we couldn’t do any kind of fancy procedure, and I knew she wouldn’t want to anyway, but...I wanted it, Clint. I wanted it to be hers.”

Clint rocks back and forth on his heels, looking pensive. “Maybe it still can be,” he says slowly, and Laura looks up with a furrowed brow.

“How?”

“Well.” Clint smiles. “I mean, I know you’re nowhere near actually getting pregnant yet, but we decided a long time ago that our names reflected us, right? A name beginning with a C for me, a name beginning with an L for you. Who’s to say we can’t use a name beginning with an N for Nat? Or better yet, just let her do the honors?”

Laura stares at Clint, making sure he’s serious and not joking about his proposal before she speaks again. “You think she’d be okay with that?”

Clint hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But she certainly can’t be angry about it. Hell, we could even name it after her, if we wanted.” He stops and looks at Laura, and they both lock into each other’s gaze, as if they’re realizing the answer to the question at the exact same time.

“Natasha Barton.”

“Cooper, Lila, and Natasha.”

Clint smiles and circles an arm around Laura’s shoulder. “What do you think? Am I going to get a knife thrown at my head?”

Laura leans into him, breathing in his scent. “Oh, I don’t know...a pair of throwing stars might be a more appropriate response,” she says with a grin as the name settles in her brain, feeling cozy and comfortable and _right_ , and Clint throws back his head and laughs.

_Natasha Barton._

Laura smiles for the first time in what feels like forever.

 

***

 

They come to the conclusion easily, while Natasha’s still staying at the house, in light of everything that’s happened with SHIELD: it was finally time to tell Cooper the truth about Clint’s job.

“We should’ve really told him after New York,” Clint grumbles after they have the conversation in bed together, settling on the decision. “We were basically playing cops and aliens every damn day.”

Laura blows out a breath. “While you were recovering from being mind controlled and your kids were scared of being around you? I don’t think so,” she says bitterly. “He didn’t ask too many questions, anyway.”

“Yeah, because kids at school probably told him everything already and we’re just telling him what we’ve kept from him for years,” Clint shoots back. Natasha reaches over and rubs a hand over Clint’s arm, soothing him.

“Coop’s a smart kid, Clint. And he’s not that little anymore. Remember when Laura had her miscarriage? He’s smart enough to recognize when he’s being kept out of something important. And if he was really upset you were keeping things from him, he would have said something by now.”

Clint lets that thought sit with him until Natasha and Laura fall asleep, and the next morning after breakfast, Laura brings Lila to a friend’s house so that they can focus on Cooper with no other distractions.

“Guess we should get it over with, huh?” Clint asks after he’s downed his fifth coffee in two hours -- only slightly unnatural, he knows, because he could drink ten coffees in one day, but it’s rare he has more than three in a two hour period unless he’s driving or trying to stay awake.

“Better late than never,” Laura agrees from the sink where she’s cleaning breakfast plates. “How do you want to do this? Me and you? All of us? You and Nat?” She pushes open the windows to allow a heavy breeze into the house and then signals Natasha from where she’s been reading at the table.

“Three of us,” Clint decides after Natasha has joined them. “You’re his mother and Natasha…” He trails off before he can allow the words to come out, the _is his mother, too_ that was about to accompany the end of his sentence out of habit. “Natasha is my partner, and we’re what he knows. We should all be involved in this.”

Laura nods slowly, taking Natasha’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “Okay,” she says, and Clint tries to calm his nerves as they walk into the living room, where Cooper is sitting on the couch, crunching dry Lucky Charms between his teeth.

“Hey, kiddo,” Clint says carefully, sitting down next to him and tapping the pages of the book spread across his lap. “Have time for a chat with daddy?”

Cooper looks up suspiciously as Natasha and Laura take seats in the big chairs, and then looks back at Clint. “Am I in trouble?” he asks quietly, his voice wavering as his face takes on a look of terror, and Clint can’t decide if he wants to laugh or hug him.

“No, no...Coop, no. You’re not in trouble,” he says quickly. “I promise. We just wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“Is mommy having another baby?” Cooper asks excitedly, and Clint glances sideways just enough to make sure Laura’s mask is firmly in place, given the question.

“Not yet,” Natasha answers. “Coop, we wanted to talk to you about our jobs.”

“Oh.” Cooper looks visibly confused and, Clint thinks, he can’t blame him. It wasn’t like Cooper was _totally_ in the dark about what they did for a living, after all. He’d even seen Clint’s uniform up close.

“I know that I told you daddy’s kind of like a police officer,” Clint says slowly. “But I think you know I’m more than that, right?”

Cooper looks a little shy, and then pushes an unruly lock of hair out of his eyes. “You fight aliens and stuff. And Godzilla.”

“He does _not_ fight Godzilla,” Laura says tiredly. “But you’re right. About the other things.”

“So you _do_ fight aliens,” Cooper says, looking at Clint with a small smile. “With Nat?”

Natasha nods and then gets up, moving to the couch so that she’s able to sit next to him. Clint feels his heart flutter as she readjusts herself, and for a moment, he forgets that Natasha isn’t absolutely bound to their family.

“We work for a place called SHIELD,” Natasha says gently. “Your dad and I.”

“What’s SHIELD?” Cooper asks curiously, and Clint wants to laugh because there _was_ no more SHIELD. But that was a conversation they weren’t starting today, if they could help it, and Clint also knows that Cooper would be none the wiser about _where_ they worked so long as he knew the truth about who and what they worked for.

“It’s kind of like a secret spy agency,” Natasha responds. “We’re not police officers there, though. We’re agents.”

The grin playing across Cooper’s face falls slowly as Natasha’s words set in, and he looks at Clint with eyes that are defiant and a look that make Clint feel a rush of guilt.

“I thought you worked for the police.”

“The place we work for is a little more important than the police,” Clint says, trying to ignore the way Cooper is looking at him, like someone has crushed his long-standing dream of there being no Santa Claus. “We travel a lot, and fight a lot of bad guys. And it’s not always what you see on television.”

Cooper swallows down what looks like a lump in his throat and when he looks back at Clint again, his eyes are brimming with angry tears. “So you’ve been working for them the whole time? And you lied to me about it the whole time?”

“Coop --”

“Why did you like to me?” Cooper pushes roughly. “Why didn’t you tell me about your job?”

“Because.” Clint leans forward while Natasha strokes his head, a comforting movement that Clint knows she’s used on him multiple times. “Sometimes, grown-ups make a choice to lie, in order to protect people they love. And for a long time, you were too little to know your dad ran around with a bow and arrow and worked for a secret company. For a long time, it was also easier to keep it from you.”

“But I haven’t known this whole time!” Cooper glares at Clint, and then at Natasha and Laura. “People have been asking me at school what you do, and I've been lying because you thought I was a baby?" He jerks away from Natasha's touch unexpectedly, his eyes set in a heated glare.

"Coop --"

"I _hate_ you!" Cooper yells loudly. "I hate you for lying to me, and it’s not fair!” He jumps up from the couch with what Clint realizes is the intent to run, and Clint rises to his feet at the same time, towering over his son and leaning forward.

“Cooper Barton,” Clint says sharply, raising his voice to an exceptionally high volume, vaguely remembering his conversation with Laura so many years ago about the absence of middle names, and what they'd yell at their son if he ever got in too much trouble. “Sit down. _Right now_.”

Cooper’s face keeps its angry mask and just for a second, Clint wonders if he'll need to start charging up the stairs to physically force his son to listen. But at his dad's words, he drops back to the couch as Clint sits down slowly.

“Apologize to your dad immediately,” Laura says firmly in the silence that follows, and Cooper avoids Clint’s face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding the least bit sorry. 

“Can we finish our conversation?” Clint asks icily, putting his hands on his knees. “Without yelling?”

Cooper shrugs, and Clint decides to take that as a yes.

“Look, I _know_ you’re not little anymore. Which is why we’re telling you about our job now. You saw what happened on television, with Natasha in the helicopter, right?”

Cooper nods slowly, and his face shifts suddenly to an expression that looks more scared than angry. “Is that...your job?” he asks tentatively. “Stuff that’s scary?”

Natasha puts her hands on Cooper's shoulders, and tries to pull him a little closer. “Not really,” she says and Clint wants to laugh at how ironically true the statement is. “That was kind of random. Our jobs are dangerous, but not normally like that.”

Cooper nods again, glancing up at Clint, and Clint can almost see him trying to decide if he wants to keep asking questions he's honestly curious about, or stew in anger and pretend he doesn't really care. “What do you use?” he asks after a moment. “To fight the bad guys?”

“What you’ve seen,” Clint says honestly. “There’s no lie there, Coop. I use my bow and arrow. Sometimes I use a gun, like a police officer. Nat does, too.” He ignores what he knows is probably Laura’s shocked and pointed look as Natasha takes something out of a bag that’s magically appeared by her feet, because while Clint had talked to Natasha about doing this, he hadn’t mentioned it to Laura for fear of her shooting him down.

“These are very powerful and very dangerous bracelets. I use them to protect myself,” Natasha explains as she holds out her widow’s bites. Cooper suddenly withdraws his hands, which, in true eleven-year-old fashion, had been reaching forward a little too eagerly.

“You can touch it,” Natasha says gently, watching him draw in on himself. “They’re safe, I promise. They’re soft, too.”

Cooper gingerly puts a hand on the bracelets, running his fingers over the weapon and the curved bullet-shaped cuffs. “Woah. You _use_ these?”

Natasha smiles, and Clint finds himself smiling in turn thanks to the awe in his son’s voice. “Sometimes. I need to keep myself safe so that I can come home and be here with you, right?”

Cooper nods, a small smile working its way over his face. He then turns around, eagerly fixing his eyes on his dad.

“Can I see it? Your bow and arrow?”

Clint glances at Laura, this time to make sure he’s not going to get thrown in the parenting doghouse, and Laura hesitates but nods slowly.

“Come on,” he says as he gets up and holds out his hand, motioning towards the stairs. Cooper’s eyes light up as he slides off the couch and follows Clint up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Cooper crawls onto the bed and Clint goes to the big closet, rustling around behind boxes of clothes until he gets to the hidden cavity he’d carved out years ago, when Cooper was getting old enough to sneak around the house without anyone knowing. He slides open a hidden slat and then removes his Hoyt Buffalo recurve bow from inside, his fingers trembling when he remembers, with a flash that he thinks might never go away, shaking it out against his will in preparation to kill everyone on Loki’s orders.

“ _That_ is totally, _completely,_ kick-ass cool,” Cooper declares excitedly when Clint brings the bow out, his smile wider than anything Clint thinks he’s ever seen. “It’s a real bow and everything! I wanna learn how to use it and then I’m gonna tell all my friends at school, and --”

“Hey, Coop.” Clint interrupts gently, sitting down next to him and laying the bow across their laps. “I know you’re excited, and I know this is cool and different. But I’d rather you not talk about it at school, okay? I don’t want everyone else finding out what I do.”

“Why?” Cooper’s staring at Clint with the same expression of disbelief that he’s seen his son give when Laura dared to mention she didn’t like chocolate ice cream. “It’s -- you’re -- _so cool_!”

“I know it’s cool,” Clint says. “But it’s also different. And that’s why we didn’t tell you about this for a long time.” He pauses to allow his words to sink in. “I don’t want you to be looked at differently just because you have a dad whose job isn’t what most people do. And I don’t want people to ask you questions you can’t answer, when it could put my job in danger.” He sees Cooper’s eyes fall in disappointment, and puts his arm around his son. “But the most important reason I don’t want you to tell people is because I like it being our little secret. The same way Nat and you have secrets that mommy and I don’t know about. So can we just keep this between us?”

“Do I get to learn how to be a secret agent?” Cooper asks, and Clint wants to laugh at the tone, which is both challenging and sly and essentially dripping in what Laura and Natasha would lovingly call “The Barton Charm.”

“I’ll talk to you about what I do, and show you things like reports, and maybe one day I can teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow -- if you want to try,” he agrees as Cooper nods enthusiastically. “If you promise not to talk to your friends about what I do too much. Is that okay?”

Cooper sticks his tongue in the side of his mouth. “And no more lying?”

“Not about my job,” Clint promises, dragging his hands over his chest. “Cross my heart. You know what happens in your stories to people who break their promises, don’t you?”

“Yeah!” Cooper says loudly. “They get thrown into a fire and they shrivel up and _die_!”

“Okay, that’s it,” Laura says as she walks into the room, raising her eyebrows, with Natasha on her heels. “No more fantasy novels for you.”

Cooper ignores his mom, turning back to Clint with a grin. “Can I touch it? Please? Pretty please, with a cherry and tons of whipped cream and chocolate sauce?”

Clint laughs and holds out his weapon, and feels himself grow misty-eyed as Cooper runs his hands over the top limb and clicker of the bow, pulling at the string a few times for good measure. Since joining up with SHIELD so many years ago, he’d hated the fact that he couldn’t fully share what he did with his son, especially because he’d _wanted_ these kinds of moments. And given that Cooper had never seemed interested in archery until now, he’d never considered how finally getting that moment would make him feel. Laura’s hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder and she squeezes it slightly in silent support.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Natasha says as Cooper continues to explore every inch of what he can touch with the same intensity Clint remembers from when his son would put together erector sets. She smirks with glinting eyes as she leans in to watch. “I think _you_ had that look in your eye when --”

“When you saw me pick up my bow for the first time,” Clint breaks in, cutting her off before she can say something compromising. Natasha’s lips twist enough for Clint to know that she was about to say something cryptically unkosher.

“Nat, did you see? Dad’s bow is so cool!”

“It is,” she agrees, walking forward and joining Clint and Laura and Cooper on the bed. “And he’s pretty good with it, right?”

“Yeah! He’s even better than that girl in _The Hunger Games_!”

Natasha bites back a laugh, watching as he continues to look over the bow. “Hey, so.” She bumps his shoulder as he grips the handle, examining the intricate modeling of the grip and the riser. “Now that you know we’re secret agents, do you still want to be like me when you get older? Like Nat?”

Cooper looks up and smiles at Natasha, before turning around to smile at Clint. “No,” he says, and Natasha raises an eyebrow at his words, catching Clint's eye.

“No?”

“No.” Cooper touches the bow again and grins widely. “I wanna be like _both_ of you.”

 

***

 

A few days later, after breakfast has been cleaned up and Clint has enthralled Cooper with his favorite game of “let’s see who can dry dishes the fastest” (“it’s not bribery if he doesn’t realize he’s being forced to do work,” Clint protests against a double eyeroll), Laura hands off a dressed and bathed Lila, giving Natasha a quick kiss as she does so.

“Where are we going?” Lila asks excitedly as Natasha carries her outside and buckles her into the car seat.

“Aunt Nat’s taking you out so we can spend the day together,” Natasha says as she tightens a strap, and Lila claps wildly.

“Nat’s gonna take Lila to the playground!”

“Maybe,” Natasha says, leaning over to smooth back her hair. She pokes at Lila’s small nose. “If I take you to the playground, will you be a good girl? No tantrums?”

“No tantrums!”

Natasha smiles and hands Lila her stuffed wolf, kissing her on the head before getting into the front seat and starting the car. She lets herself have a moment of head-shaking insanity over the fact that she’s driving a _minivan_ of all things, before she steers the car away from the farm and down the road. Natasha never would have thought anyone would trust her with something as dangerous and inviting as a vehicle, much less with handling the inner workings of a home -- much less looking after a child. But Laura and Clint were different. Clint had been slow to open up about his children and about his relationship with Laura, but he never felt like he couldn’t trust her with them. Laura had been the same, slow to open up but never anything less than gentle and understanding of Natasha’s situation, and of her relationship with Clint.

_And yet._

Natasha’s throat closes up as she passes the part of the road where she had sat when she ran away after Laura’s ring proposal and she fights back a sudden wave of emotions, focusing instead on the gaudy, too-domestic air freshener in the shape of a dog hanging from the rearview mirror. Even though she had apologized and they had talked about what had happened, she doubts Laura will ever forget the hurt Natasha caused her in the moment.

 _Or maybe she has forgotten_ , Natasha muses, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability when she glances in the rearview mirror and sees Lila talking happily to her wolf in a one-sided conversation.

“I never want you to feel like you don’t have a family,” Natasha whispers, her eyes welling up so unexpectedly that for a moment, everything becomes blurry. She swerves slightly, cursing loudly in Russian when she realizes what she’s done.

“ _Bozhe moi._ ”

In the back of the car, Lila’s giggles turn raucous. “Nat said bad word! Nat said a bad word!”

Natasha takes a breath, gritting her teeth, watching as Lila pulls a handful of Cheerios from the snack bag that Laura had given her before they left.

“Eat your cheerios, Lila baby,” she says as she continues to drive, parking at the edge of the playground and getting out to unbuckle Lila from her car seat. As she lifts Lila into her arms, the little girl snuggles into her shoulder.

“Nat, I made up a song!”

“I heard,” Natasha says, securing Lila with one hand while grabbing Laura’s messenger bag with the other.

“An’ it was about being a best friend forever. Like Nat is my best best friend forever.” She puts her arms around Natasha’s neck as they start to walk towards the park. “Nat never leaves.”

Natasha’s stomach does a somersault at Lila’s words. “No?” She untangles Lila from her arms and puts her on the ground, and Lila swipes at the grass for a few moments before looking up. She purses her lips in a way that Natasha recognizes as the four-year-old’s mind trying to figure out how to form words.

“Daddy says you’re gonna stay here forever.”

“Well.” Natasha settles into the ground, trying to smile. “Daddy says a lot of things. Sometimes, he’s not smart.”

“Daddy’s not smart!” Lila repeats with a grin and Natasha finds herself laughing. She does try to watch her words more often than not, but she almost _wants_ the small child to use that one over and over again.

“Hey, you wanna show Aunt Nat how you play on the swings?”

Lila nods enthusiastically and Natasha gets up, leading Lila to the playground where a few other kids are running around on the monkey bars and slides. Lila beelines immediately to the swing and sits down, looking up at Natasha expectantly through a scraggly mess of uncombed hair, until Natasha walks behind her to push her gently, sometimes pulling her back enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. Natasha focuses on Lila’s laugh and tries to ignore all the other children and their mothers, the ones with the too perfect nails and bags of groceries and oversized coffee cups, simple accessories that seem so inherent of a domestic life.

 _People that didn’t just dump their entire past online for the world to see_ , she thinks bitterly, watching one of the other mothers laugh and smile as she scribbles on a pad of paper. She shifts a little uncomfortably in Laura’s borrowed jeans as Lila slides off the swing, clearly done with this particular activity.

“Now I wanna sing songs,” Lila decides. Natasha refocuses her attention on the little girl, leading her back to the edge of the grass, the bag of Fisher Price dolls knocking around as it hits against her legs. They’ve walked a few steps from the playground when Natasha becomes distracted by yelling followed by crying, and she turns to see a clearly distraught little girl with two pigtails and tears running down her cheeks.

It’s not the sight of the crying child that makes her stop in her tracks -- it’s the fact that the mother standing over her is delivering a set of harsh slaps to the child’s arm as she cries more loudly. Every other mother in the vicinity, Natasha notices, is trying not to pay attention or cautiously avoiding the situation, and something dark and angry billows into Natasha’s heart, spreading through her veins.

“Auntie Nat!” Lila’s voice, tiny and fragile and tinted with fear, cuts into her silent fury. “You’re hurting me!”

Natasha looks down and gasps quietly, realizing that she’s been clutching the four-year-old’s arm with almost brute force without even realizing it. She instantly lets go, watching in horror as hot red marks appear on Lila’s skin. Even though the rational part of her mind knows they’ll fade well before they even get home, she feels her heart stop, the air escaping from her lungs as if she’s been socked in the stomach.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lila baby...I’m sorry, okay?” Natasha bends down and takes the little girl in her arms, kissing her. “I’m sorry, Aunt Nat’s sorry, she didn’t mean to hurt you.” _She didn’t mean to hurt you and she did, she hurt the one person she swore to always protect, even if it wasn’t intentional_.

“It’s ok Tasha,” Lila says placidly as Natasha pulls away. “I love you!”

The words make Natasha want to cry and throw up at the same time, and she realizes her legs are shaking. “Come on, Lila.” She forces her voice into something resembling calm, motioning towards where the car is parked. “We’re going home.”

“But I wanted to play with toys,” Lila protests in a high-pitched whine, clearly upset. “I don’t wanna go home!”

“If we go home, we can play with daddy and you can bring out all your dolls and we can have a party if you want,” Natasha says, thinking as quickly as she can with a brain that feels like it’s spinning in ten different directions, and Lila considers this before smiling. Natasha finds herself grateful for the fluctuating moods of toddlers.

“I wanna invite everyone to my party!”

“Okay, who are we going to invite?” Natasha asks as she leads Lila back to the car, careful not to touch her arm, instead holding loosely onto her hand.

“I’m gonna invite Brownie, cause Brownie goes everywhere. And mommy and daddy and Tasha and Coop and Train Car and Binky and…”

Lila keeps chattering as Natasha buckles her into the carseat, trying to calm herself enough to drive without letting her thoughts overwhelm her. Natasha had, at one time, been an assassin through and through, she has -- _had_ \-- killed people with her own two hands. She’d felt their bones break under her skin, she’d stuck knives in their ribs and she'd put bullets between their eyes, she’d squeezed the life out of more people than she can remember. Clint and Laura had allowed her to become a part of the family because they believed in the fact that she loved their children too much to ever hurt them. And now Lila...Lila, who she _knew_ she could never hurt…

Natasha clutches the wheel with shaking fingers and tries to remind herself that she wouldn’t and couldn’t have hurt the child singing to herself in the backseat, but Lila’s scared voice filters through her thoughts, and suddenly, she can’t even look at her hands without feeling nauseous. When she gets back to the farm, she doesn’t know whether she’s relieved or terrified to see Clint’s broken down truck in the driveway; she wants comfort but part of her also wants to be alone with her thoughts because she knows when she walks in the door, she won’t be able to hide her feelings.

“Home now! Nat took Lila home!” Lila says, clutching her stuffed wolf. Natasha tries to smile as she helps Lila out of the car, and the small child skips happily up the driveway and into the house. Natasha follows slowly as she opens the front door and disappears inside.

“Hey,” Clint says when she finally walks in. He’s sitting at the kitchen table helping Cooper with homework, his reading glasses askew because, Natasha realizes, he’s never really gotten them fixed after he’d messed up the wiring by falling asleep with them on. “How was the park?”

“Nat and I played on the swings and I made up a song!” Lila answers from the other side of the kitchen where she’s munching on a bag of carrot sticks. She runs out of the room and then up the stairs, no doubt, Natasha thinks, to tell her mom and find the toys that Natasha has promised they could have a party with.

“Nat?” Clint’s looking at her with a questionable expression that she knows means _talk to me_ , but she also knows she can’t do that in front of Cooper.

“Let me know when you’re done with homework,” she responds, pushing hair behind her ear. “I could use some help cleaning up in the barn.”

She sees Clint take the hint almost immediately and he returns to Cooper’s papers, while Natasha walks back outside and actually does head to the barn, where she knows Laura has put a punching bag for the sparring needs that couldn’t be taken care of by beating the crap out of each other. She looks at the large bag for a moment and then throws a punch, and then another, but soon finds it doesn’t help the aggression and fear and anxiety.

“Nat, what the hell?”

By the time Clint walks in half an hour later, she’s given up on the activity and is sitting on the floor throwing small rocks at the barn walls, watching them ricochet off the wood. “Are you okay?”

 _I’m so far from okay, you have no idea_ , Natasha thinks, closing her eyes briefly. “No,” she admits. “We went to the park. And it was fine, I was fine. And then I saw a mother hitting her child and I...I…” She watches Clint’s face, a stoic mask of neutrality as he waits for her to finish. Clint could be all love and forgiveness and soft fatherhood, but she knows that he’d probably burn the world to the ground if Natasha did anything to one of his kids. Natasha also knows that _he_ knows she’d never actually go that far.

“I got scared, and I wasn’t thinking, and I just...I held her a little too hard, but she noticed, and I…” She breaks off, looking down when she realizes it’s becoming hard to breathe. Clint moves so that he’s sitting next to her, putting a hand on her back.

“It’s not like you hurt her.”

“But I did!” Natasha snaps her head up. “She _said_ I did. No matter how superficially I hurt her, no matter how easily she forgets, that was on me. I was responsible for her, and instead I let my emotions get away from me and that...a mother wouldn’t do that,” Natasha says, thinking of the woman hitting her child and lowering her chin to her knees. “You would never do that. Laura would _never_ do that.”

Clint falls quiet beside her and for the first time in a long time, Natasha hates that she’s not quite sure what he’s thinking.

“Thompson.”

“What?” Natasha swivels her head in confusion, trying to stop the hammer that’s banging on her brain.

“Thompson. Mack Thompson. Sandy-haired, scrawny guy. He had three kids. One of them was Lila’s age. The other one was a little older than Coop. He lived in White Plains.”

Natasha’s gut clenches, because she knows where this is going, however out of the blue it seems. “Clint --”

“Did you know Thompson was Hydra?”

Natasha blinks. “Of course not. I didn’t even know Sitwell was Hydra, not to mention Rumlow and half the STRIKE team, though I guess I should have suspected as much. Why?”

Clint swallows, looking at the ground. “Because. I killed him. I killed Thompson and Jefferies and Falsworth. But I also killed Yardley and Perkins and Hobbs. And according to the papers I read after SHIELD fell, they weren’t Hydra. They were just regular guys. With families. Like me.” He lets out a long breath, shaking slightly. “And I killed them.”

“Clint.” Natasha puts her hand on his arm. “You killed maybe twenty men, and not as yourself. Do you know how many people I’ve killed _knowing_ that I was aware of my actions? That it was _my_ hands willingly putting knives in their bodies and _my_ fingers that were willingly drawing the blood I’d wake up with underneath my nails?”

“And yet you hold my kids and you hug them and you tuck them into bed,” Clint says abruptly. “You’re  _not_ a killer. That’s the same thing you told me over and over again when I murdered innocent people. You told me I’m not a killer.”

“You’re...you’re not,” Natasha says helplessly and Clint grabs a stray rock, hurling it against the barn wall.

“And you’re not, either! You didn’t do anything to Lila that would have hurt her.”

“But I could have!” Natasha explodes back. “I could’ve been just like that mother at the park hitting her child, and what if I am? What if one day I’m not enough for her or for Cooper? What if one day they find out that --”

“That, what? Their second mother is an assassin?” Clint breaks in bluntly. “Probably the same way they’d react if they found out their father was once a brainwashed murderer.”

Natasha doesn’t answer and when she does speak, her voice is quiet.

“Your kids.”

Clint leans his head back, arching it towards the ceiling, and twists his neck around. “What?”

“You hold your kids now,” Natasha says slowly. “And you know that your hands have also killed people. It makes it hard, right? To think that you can be a good father?”

Clint sets his jaw in a straight line and stares at the wall, letting all the air out of his body. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Sometimes Lila asks for a hug, and I have to remind myself I can, you know...touch her and not strangle her because Loki tells me to.” He barks out a cynical laugh. “I’ve been fine for two years.”

“You’re not fine, and it’s not a timetable,” Natasha says sadly. “I know that better than anyone. Besides, you never went to therapy.”

“Fuck you too,” Clint mutters, shooting her a glare. He threads his fingers across the top of his scalp. “Look, I know no one knows about the farm. And I know that information isn’t out there. I trust Fury. I trust you. But what if --”

“Clint.”

“What if one day, it’s not safe to come home anymore?”

Natasha’s been ready to throw another interjection his way but stops at his words, and the mood between them, which had previously been tense and uncomfortable, becomes soft and gentle.

“This is your home,” Natasha says quietly, wrapping their fingers together. “It will _always_ be your home. It will always be safe, from Hydra, from Loki, from all of the things you’re scared of.”

“Then tell me you’re not thinking of running again,” he says slowly. “And tell me why I should believe that it’s safe when you can’t even stay here.”

Natasha swallows down a lump in her throat. “I’m exposed,” she whispers. “I don’t know who I am right now, Clint. I’m a spy and I’m an assassin and the world knows my secrets, all of them, and I don’t...I don’t know if the mailman is aware that I murdered half of Zagreb or if the lady at the deli knows that I infiltrated the Russian Prime Minister’s cabinet, _I don’t know_ ,” she continues, her voice trembling. “Do you have any idea how scary that is? To know that I gave it all up, and now I have to deal with those consequences?” She takes a steadying breath. “The world knows me as something I spent so many years trying to push away. And then there’s you, and Laura, and...I don’t know what type of person I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re not supposed to be anyone, except the person who loves us,” Clint says strongly. Natasha shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I love you, Clint, I do. But I _don’t know who I am_.” She gets up, unable to sit and listen to him try to placate her any longer, and she’s almost at the barn door when Clint’s tired, resigned voice stops her.

“Nat. Don’t run.”

Natasha hates that he knows exactly what she’s thinking of doing, but this time, she thinks that he might even understand why she’s thinking of it. It’s not because she’s scared that she can’t commit to a relationship or because she doesn’t feel like she has a place in their family. It’s because she’s slipping and she’s crumbling, and the parts of her she’s worked so hard to build and mold into something positive are turning to dust beneath gentle fingers that try to catch every grain of sand that falls away.

“I don’t have any place to run to,” she says just as quietly, speaking to the air before she pulls the door open and walks outside. She takes her paces fast, striding across the lawn in quick spurts, but instead of going back to the house she takes a walk around the farm instead, blowing off the rest of her steam and anxiety with three full laps before returning inside.

“There you are,” Laura says when she walks back into the house, and Natasha can almost feel her eyes burning another hole in her shoulder.

“Nat’s back!” Lila says from Laura’s lap. “You’re missing the party! Daddy came and we started without you but mommy and I saved you juice.”

“Nat’s back,” Natasha repeats, flashing what she hopes is a genuine smile. The way the lines deepen around Laura mouth indicates that she sees through her front.

“Maybe Natasha wants to help mommy bake some cookies for your party,” Laura says and Lila jumps up, bouncing on two feet.

“I want cookies, I want cookies, I want cookies!”

“Then go find your brother, and we’ll all make cookies,” says Laura as Lila scampers off towards the stairs. Natasha watches her go, feeling pained.

“If the cookie suggestion was just to get me alone, you could’ve waited until tonight instead of giving your daughter a sugar high.”

“No, I’ll bake cookies,” Laura says as she gets up from the couch, walking to the kitchen. As if to prove her point, she takes out a mixing bowl and a bag of chocolate chips. “And we’ll also talk. Alone.” She removes milk and eggs and butter from the fridge, placing them on the counter before she turns around.

“Clint told me what happened at the park. How you were scared about the way you reacted with Lila.”

Natasha shoves the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Does _anything_ stay a secret in this house, or is everything passed between you guys like a fucking commune?”

“Stop that,” Laura says sharply. “We have levels of trust, you know that -- there are things about you and Clint that I don’t know, and there are things about you and me that Clint doesn’t know. But if it’s something that directly affects us as a threesome, or affects our children? Then, yes, we’re going to pass things between each other. Because _that’s_ what trust is.”

Natasha puts her hands on the table, looking at Laura and then up at Clint, who has joined the conversation silently at some point during their talk and is leaning against the entryway of the kitchen.

“You can’t fix it,” she says after a long pause. “You can’t fix anything I did.”

“We know that,” Clint says gently. “I’m not going to pretend I know what this feels like.”

Natasha breathes slowly, open-mouthed, so that she can hear the steadiness of her own inhales and exhales in the silence, a reminder that she’s alive and is in control of her body.

“I just want to go,” she says, watching Laura pour flour and crack an egg, the soft break reminding her of the way she had squeezed Lila’s small arm too hard. “For awhile. It has nothing to do with you this time, I promise. But I want...I need…”

“You have to do this alone,” Clint finishes, and Natasha notices Laura’s busying herself too much with baking to look in her direction. “You don’t, you know. This is the best place for you. It’s hidden, it’s secluded, no one knows you’re here --”

“And it’s my last real secret,” Natasha breaks in. “I need time to process what that means.”

Laura finally turns around, her eyes dry but sad. “Don’t do this,” she pleads quietly. “Think of us. Think of her, of _them_.”

“I have to,” Natasha whispers. “Please, just...let me go. Let me leave. I need to do this. Tell the kids I had to go to work or something. If you let me leave, if you let me just take this time alone and not worry that I’m going to be a disaster that hurts the people I love, I’ll come back. I _promise_ that I’ll come back. I won’t stay away.” She hates that she even has to say the words out loud, that she has to put some sort of ultimatum on her decision because she’s been guilty of not being faithful to her promises over the years.

Laura looks at her sadly, hands caked with flour and a smudge of chocolate dark across her nose, comfort wrapped in love wrapped in understanding, and Natasha wishes her heart didn’t know what it felt like to hurt.

 

***

 

Aside from texts and phone calls to ensure that she’s okay, because Clint trusts nothing after what’s happened to SHIELD, Natasha stays away from the farm for almost three months.

Laura continues her therapy sessions, which get a little easier and a little more emotional every time, but Clint starts to notice a definite change in her personality -- a welcome return of the Laura he knew five years ago when they were talking about getting pregnant with Lila, one that laughs more and jokes more and walks in on him when he’s getting into the shower, asking slyly if he wants company. Lila works her way through pre-school and comes out on the other side with all the flying colors inherent of Laura's own love for learning and reads more books and prepares to start kindergarten, while Clint checks in on occasion with Hill who updates him on the scattered remains of SHIELD. (May, he learns, has agreed to help lead a team of agents who are doing what SHIELD no longer can, but he politely declines the invitation to offer some pointers on sparring and fighting over Skype.) Before the start of the school year, Clint and Laura make an appointment with a psychologist, who gives Cooper a series of simple tests and eventually diagnoses him with dysgraphia.

“It’s common among children, but with the right amount of support and care, Cooper should continue to excel in his classes without a problem,” says the psychologist, handing over a packet full of information while Clint clutches Laura’s hand underneath the table. Clint gathers brochures and spends hours at night learning about the disability and familiarizing himself with the best ways that they can help at home, while Laura’s mom helps find a tutor that specializes in middle-school based learning disabilities. Cooper works for an hour each day after school while Laura and Clint monitor his progress, and during every afternoon, Cooper asks when Natasha is coming back to help with his work.

In late September, Laura quietly approaches Clint while he’s shooting aimlessly in the barn after the kids have gone to bed, and holds out a positive pregnancy test without speaking. Clint looks down, then looks back up and laughs long and loud until he cries, falling to his knees with Laura, who snuggles up against him on a dirty, sawdust covered floor.

I’m thinking of giving it up,” he says a few days afterwards, while they’re trying to clean the bedroom. “The apartment.”

Laura looks up in surprise. “The one in Brooklyn? Are you sure?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. I think so.”

Laura shrugs, grabbing a pile of Cooper’s dirty shirts that have somehow made their way to the floor. “Well, it was a nice place, but it was also free, so it’s not like you’re losing out on some big investment. Besides, you’re barely there anyway, compared to how much you used to use it when you started. It was just nice to have the option.”

“I don’t _want_ the option,” Clint says a little too strongly, sitting down on the bed. “I want to come home. I want to come home to this house and not worry about having to be away from you, and SHIELD is gone, anyway, and who knows if they’ll even relocate back to New York. After all of this…” He waves his hand around. “I just want to be here, with you. And my kids. And Nat. When Nat wants to.”

Laura sighs quietly. “I’m not talking you out of it, because I want those things, too,” she says slowly. “And you know we never got to bring up the subject about moving in again, after everything that happened with New York and the miscarriage.”

“We didn’t,” Clint says. “Maybe we should try now.”

Laura swallows hard, staring out the window, as if she’s unconsciously waiting for someone to walk up the lawn. “She has to come home, first.”

“She will,” Clint decides, his voice confident. “I trust her. This time, it’s not about running away from us. It’s about her taking the time to make sure she feels okay with herself after what happened with SHIELD.”

“And I never understood why she couldn’t just stay here and do that,” Laura says, folding a shirt slowly. Clint gets up, moving so that he can stand behind her, hugging her tightly.

“I do know why, and I also don’t,” he admits. “But all we can do is be patient, right? We love her. So let’s allow her this absence, and remember that.”

The day Natasha finally does come home, a week or so after Clint has reassured Laura that she absolutely will, Clint is caught so off guard that he nearly drops the heavy tub of mashed potatoes he’s carrying.

“Good thing I didn’t come at seven in the morning,” Natasha says, watching him lurch and falter in place before he safely puts the food on the table. “If that was your first cup of coffee, you would have killed me.”

“Shut up,” he orders, walking forward and kissing her fiercely, his fingers brushing against the arrow necklace that hangs around her throat. When Natasha kisses him back, he notices she doesn’t shake from hesitancy or fear.

“How was your sabbatical?” Clint asks, searching her face and her body. There are a few lingering bruises on her arms and he notices that her eyes are more tired than usual, as if she’s been trying to keep herself going when she knows she should stop and rest.

“Good,” she says quietly. “I found...I think I found what I was looking for.”

“Good,” Clint says just as quietly, electing not to question her further, because he feels that Natasha coming home of her own accord is more than he could’ve asked for.

Laura happens to be picking up Cooper and Lila from school, and when they return to the house and see Natasha and Clint sharing a drink on the front porch, the screams of happiness from the kids combined with the tearful ear-to-ear grin from Laura is enough to bowl Clint over. That night, the three adults crawl into bed together and press their naked bodies on top of one another, and Clint and Laura listen with rapt attention while Natasha describes in detail the trip she had made back to the Red Room (now nothing more than a crumbling establishment filled with abandoned ghost tales), the way she had broken herself down by remembering enough of her past until she could come to terms with the fact that the people and things that made her were gone, and that she was responsible for making her life something worth living for.

Natasha settles in long enough for Clint to realize she’s not leaving anytime soon, and once he’s sure of that, Laura breaks the official pregnancy news at the table during breakfast in front of her and both of their kids. Clint feels his heart swell with happiness as, for the first time in his life, he watches his whole family celebrate something momentous.

“It’s okay, you know,” Natasha says later, when she’s helping Laura clean up the kitchen. Laura turns her attention away from the coffee pot she’s washing.

“What’s okay?”

Clint, who is standing near the counter waiting for Laura to hand off dishes to dry, can see the way she’s hesitantly speaking.

“I mean, the name. If you don’t want...I just want you to know that I’ve thought about it, and it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Laura asks in confusion as Clint folds his arms, and Natasha shrugs uncomfortably.

“I mean, come on,” she says a little helplessly. “Do you really want to name a child after someone who’s continually ran out on you? Who chooses the hard way of dealing with her feelings? Who _hurts_ you?”

“I’m not naming my child after that,” Laura responds immediately, looking at Clint. “I’m naming it after someone I love. Someone we _both_ love, and someone we can’t imagine not having in our lives.” She smiles gently. “You’re stuck with us, Natasha. And as long as you don’t hold me against the wall at gunpoint, this baby will be stuck with your name, whether you like it or not.”

Natasha swallows down what sounds like a quiet sob, and then shakes her head. “You’re both stupid as all hell,” she informs them before grabbing dirty napkins off the table, but she’s smiling, and Clint smiles back.

A few weeks later, close to Halloween, Laura is downstairs putting last minute touches on Lila’s bumblebee costume and Clint is upstairs reading with Natasha, both of them lying lazily on each other’s bodies while the old radio sings soft melodies in the background.

“You gonna come back?” Natasha asks when he forces her to move so that he can go to the bathroom, three cups of coffee finally catching up with him. Clint rolls his eyes.

“What, you think I’m intentionally trying to get away? You already left me alone long enough.” He presses a quick kiss to her cheek before he leaves the room and when he comes back, bladder sufficiently emptied, he’s suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion at the sight of Natasha lying on the bed. With her body curving in the all the right places, she elicits a look that’s both seductive and domestic, and it sends the blood racing to his lower extremities almost immediately. He closes the door and then marches over to the bed, dragging her up and pushing her against the wall, and Natasha’s eyes grow wide with both surprise and arousal.

“Don’t ask,” he growls as he presses his mouth to hers, struggling to satisfy his urge. He feels her lips turn up against his own and when he breaks away to draw in a breath of air, her chest is heaving just as much as his.

“Well, like you said, Hawkeye...it _has_ been awhile…”

She helps him get his shirt over his head and starts kissing around his throat, sucking at his collarbone, her hands sliding down his body until she can push his jeans and boxers off. As he grinds against her, she runs her tongue down the curve of his jaw, causing him to moan and fall forward more into their embrace and their kiss.

“Daddy, let’s play!”

Clint jerks away from Natasha, forgetting for a moment that his pants are completely down. Fortunately, Natasha’s brain seems to work faster and she’s also still mostly clothed, which works to his benefit as she moves in front of him to shield the lower half of his body.

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

Lila’s small voice is both confused and interested as she takes in the sight before her. Clint struggles to come up with an appropriate response, and he thinks it’s probably the first time in his life that he’s seen Natasha at a true loss for words during any kind of confrontation.

“We’ll play with you soon, Lila baby,” Natasha says finally, and Clint notices she’s using the same sweet voice she likes to put on when someone is pissing her off at work. “Can you let us finish doing some grown-up things first?”

Lila giggles and then nods. “Okay!” She bounces out of the room and once the sound of her footsteps fade, Natasha rushes forward and closes the door, pushing in the lock Clint had put in years ago.

_“You didn’t lock the goddamn door?”_

“I _thought_ I did! What, so this is my fault?” Clint grabs for his shirt, trying to ignore the look on Natasha’s face, and pulls up his pants up over his waning erection.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s your fault or not! She just saw us naked, doing things that she definitely did not need to know about!”

“Okay, so, maybe she’ll forget about it,” Clint says, trying to be optimistic even as Natasha rolls her eyes. She yanks the door open and Clint, now fully dressed again, follows on her heel. Halfway down the stairs, they hear Lila’s giggling voice filtering out from the kitchen.

“I saw daddy naked! I saw daddy naked kissing Tasha!”

Clint reaches the bottom step as Natasha scuffs a foot against the floor and Laura turns around and fixes Clint with a stare that makes him want to run for the hills.

“I can explain,” he mumbles as Laura picks up Lila, who is still giggling.

“I’m sure you can,” Laura says smoothly. “Lila, do you want to watch your cartoons for a little bit?”

“And then we can play?” Lila asks excitedly. Laura nods.

“Yes,” she says, kissing her daughter as she puts her down. “Afterwards, we can play.”

Lila glances up at the three adults, laughing as she runs out of the room. Clint and Natasha migrate to the couch out of habit, where they sink down next to each other.

“Glad she finds this hysterical,” Natasha mutters under her breath and Clint snorts.

“She’s four, she finds the freaking grass on the lawn hysterical.”

“Knock it off,” Laura says sharply, sitting down next to both of them. “Clint, are you _kidding_ me? For years, we’ve been careful about this. Cooper doesn’t even know, and he’s technically old enough to!”

“Look, I know. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he protests. “I mean, obviously, I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” Laura says irritably, her face taking on a worried look. “The point is, Lila can’t control herself right now. She’s _four_ , Clint. She has no idea if what she saw is something that happens every day, or something she shouldn’t see until she’s fifty. What’s going to happen if she goes to school and tells her friends that she saw daddy naked and kissing someone people don't technically know as her mom? How well do you think that’s going to go over?”

Clint realizes she has a point, and it’s not that he hadn’t realized the intensity of the situation before, but hearing Laura say the words out loud somehow makes it real.

“Should we tell Cooper?”

“No,” Laura says instantly. “No, we already dropped the bomb on him about your job. And we just told him about this baby. It’s bad enough that he has to deal with half of the unconventional things that come with this life, I'm not throwing our relationship into the mix at the same time right now.”

“Then what do we do?” Clint asks, looking at Natasha. “Auntie Nat saves the day?”

Natasha makes a face while Laura shakes her head.

“Absolutely not. I won’t have Natasha take the brunt of this. It’s not fair to Lila and her relationship.”

“So how do we deal with it?” Clint asks in frustration. “I mean, there aren’t exactly a trove of websites and books where you can search things like, ‘what happens when your daughter sees their dad kissing another woman?’”

“Actually, there are,” Natasha interjects. “But that’s neither here nor there. Those articles give good advice, but every family is different. You can’t learn _everything_ from the Internet.”

“So basically, we’re screwed,” Clint confirms, dropping his head into his arms.

“We’re not screwed,” Laura says, though her voice doesn’t match the confidence of her words. “We talk to Lila and we acknowledge that she saw something. We tell her you were playing pretend. We -- I _hate_ lying, but this is _not_ the right time to do this. Hopefully, she’s young enough that she’ll forget about it and it won’t get brought up again until we’re ready to tell her the truth.”

“ _Or_ , she runs her mouth and asks questions because we’ve opened a floodgate, when she could possibly just forget and never mention it again,” Clint points out and Laura winces.

“That’s a pretty big if, Clint.”

“Come on, Laur. She’s our daughter, you know exactly how she reacts to being told something like this,” Clint answers. “She’s too goddamn curious.”

“That’s what you get for having a child who's the product of two well-read parents,” Natasha says, breaking into the conversation. Clint wants to tell her that for all that Lila and Cooper were a product of Clint’s smarts and Laura’s inquisitive mind, they had also picked up more than a few of Natasha’s traits along the years, but his mind is too scattered trying to find a viable solution to the situation. He suddenly wants to laugh, because he knows that he can look at any SHIELD report and analyze the best way to strategize during a mission, and he knows he can look at a blueprint and figure out exactly how to improve a room or a building, and even Natasha had been a project that he had been able to crack easily. And yet, all of those experiences were proving to be nothing compared to the trials of parenting, when you had to figure out how to tell your youngest child why you were kissing another woman that you loved.

“Spit it out,” Natasha says sharply, and Clint groans.

“This is worse than that time we got caught making out in the bathroom during that mission in Shanghai,” he mutters and Laura shoots him a look.

“What the hell happened in Shanghai that _I_ don’t know about?”

“Mommy!” Lila reappears in the living room suddenly, stopping in front of all three adults and putting her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of both Natasha and Laura combined. “I know why Nat was kissing daddy.”

Clint and Natasha exchange glances as Laura turns to her daughter, taking a deep breath and smiling widely.

“Why, Lila baby?”

“Because. She’s Auntie Nat and daddy loves Auntie Nat,” Lila says, as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “I kiss daddy all the time, and I love him a lot, like Auntie Nat does!”

Clint trades a long, silent conversation with Natasha, the way he’s used to doing during so many moments when they can’t use words, and then looks at Laura briefly.

“You’re absolutely right,” decides Clint as Lila smiles more.

“Coop says Tasha is Aunt Tasha because when I was a baby, I already had a mom and I needed Tasha to be my aunt. But I love Tasha the way daddy does,” Lila continues, talking fast. “Tasha’s been my mom since I was a baby, so she gets to kiss daddy!”

Clint’s heart beats a little faster and he looks over at Natasha and then Laura, both of whom are staring at their daughter with unreadable expressions.

“Hey, Lila.” Natasha’s voice, when she speaks, is soft. “Come here, baby girl.”

Lila walks forward until Natasha can grab her easily, placing her on her lap. “Auntie Nat loves you very much,” Natasha says quietly. “And she will always love you and be in your life. But you know I’m not your mom, right?”

Lila shakes her head, two pigtails flying around wildly. “You’re not my mom like mommy is, but you’re my mom because you kiss daddy,” she says, as if the explanation makes sense, and, well. Clint has to admit it kind of does. He silently curses his four-year-old for being so damn astute.

“And I like that you think of me as your mom,” Natasha continues, brushing a finger against her nose. “Because I love you. But I like being Aunt Nat, too. Because that’s something we share together, right? Even though Cooper sometimes calls me Aunt Nat, he doesn't call me that the same way you do.”

Lila nods. “Tasha’s secret, with me!”

“Yes,” Natasha says and Clint loses himself in watching the way Natasha’s placating his daughter. It’s a careful conversation filled with all the intricacies of how she might talk to a target, but there’s a layer of gentleness and warmth, a distinct difference that Clint know he’d never see anywhere in the field or even outside of his home. “So even if you want me to be your mom, can I still keep being Aunt Nat? For now? And then all of this, and me liking daddy, can be our little secret?”

“Okay,” Lila says slowly, looking up at Natasha. “But you’ll be my mom for real someday, right? Even if I still call you Auntie Tasha forever?”

“Lila, baby --” Laura’s gentle voice cuts into the conversation as she leans forward, but Natasha’s even more tender voice surprisingly gets there first.

“Yes,” Natasha says before Laura can continue, and Clint notices she doesn’t look at either of them when she speaks. “I will.”

Lila starts breathing a little faster at Natasha’s words, her voice rising. “And can we make a secret handshake for secrets like Big Bird?”

Natasha smiles. “Yes,” she repeats, holding her hand up. “You and me and our secret handshake. Like Big Bird. Okay?”

“I want it to be like this,” Lila decides, grabbing Natasha’s fingers and shaking vigorously. Clint holds back a laugh, feeling like it would be inappropriate to express the emotion so openly when things were still serious and tension-filled, at least on the adult end of the conversation. He notices that Laura’s barely holding back, however, which surprises him.

“Okay.” Natasha kisses Lila and lifts her up, putting her down on the ground. “Now, go get your toys ready and we’ll play with you in a bit. Does that sound good?”

“I’m gonna get _all_ my toys!” Lila decides, holding out her hand again. Natasha takes her small fingers and Lila repeats the over-exaggerated handshake before running up the stairs. The moment they’re alone again, Clint, Laura and Natasha let out a collective long breath.

“That was unexpected,” Laura says slowly at the same time that Clint speaks.

“I need a drink.” He gets up from the couch and Natasha follows, rubbing a hand across her eyes.

“Me, too.”

Clint is ultimately worried about dinner that night, of Lila saying something she shouldn’t, because he knows Laura’s right about the fact that she doesn’t quite know how to shut her mouth appropriately yet. _Gets that from her father, too,_ he thinks to himself as he serves salad and passes bread, helping Cooper dole out a heavy helping of mashed potatoes. But Natasha manages to keep Lila engaged in conversation, and Lila talks about her earlier playtime, and the chocolate she helped Laura pick out at the store, and the cartoon she had watched in the morning, and essentially everything _except_ what she saw earlier in the afternoon. When dinner has been cleared and baths have been drawn and Laura has gotten the kids to bed, Clint finally feels like he can breathe properly again.

“This was the worst day of my life,” Clint mutters, crawling half naked onto the covers.

“Worse than the food poisoning you picked up in Serbia, when you couldn’t stop throwing up for over twenty-four hours and messed up Coulson’s shoes?” Natasha asks.

“Yes,” Clint says, pressing his cheek into the pillow. “That _face_ is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“Well, I hope you at least still plan on having sex,” Natasha says as she pulls her hair up and steps out of her slippers, getting into bed with him. Across the room, Laura stifles a laugh.

“You weren’t laughing five hours ago,” Clint points out grumpily, and Laura shakes her head.

“No, I was actually ready to kill you. And then I was going to make Natasha hide the body, since she’s good at that. But we seemed to diffuse the situation okay, so I think I can finally find the humor in you, of all people, getting caught with your pants down.”

“Ugh.” Clint closes his eyes as Natasha cuddles up close to him, placing her hand over one of his scars.

“Door’s locked now,” she whispers, licking his ear. “Triple locked, in fact. In case you were curious.”

“Not _now,”_ Clint practically whines, the sound loud and pathetic as it leaves his throat. “I’m still on edge. And still feeling guilty. You think I can get it up with all that going on?”

Natasha sighs, blowing out a soft warm breath of air against his ear. “You had no problem getting it up with a broken arm and blood loss in Cuba,” she informs him, turning around as Laura pulls back the covers. Clint feels the shift of the mattress as Natasha starts to cuddle Laura, and he turns over in time to see Laura give her an apologetic smile.

“I’m not feeling great tonight,” she says, looking pained and sad, gesturing to her stomach. “I don’t think I’d be that good in bed either, Nat.”

Natasha turns onto her back in annoyance. “Fine. Can we at least cuddle then? This is the second time I’ve been gypped from getting some today, and usually, I know I can count on that in this house.”

Clint laughs, wrapping his arm around Natasha’s waist while Laura does the same, and Clint hooks his foot around Laura and Natasha’s tangled legs.

“Was it true?”

Natasha inclines her head, trying to look up at him given the way they’re all knotted together in the bed that sometimes seems too small, but only because they all insist on piling on top of each other like hibernating animals.

“Was what true?”

Clint takes a deep breath. “That one day, you’ll be her mom? Not Aunt Tasha, but her _real_ mom?”

There’s a pattern of irregular heartbeats that Clint can feel from where she’s pressed against him, but when she speaks, her voice is calm and measured.

“I’d never lie to her, Clint.”

“Natasha.” Laura props herself up on her elbow, pushing hair out of her eyes as Natasha takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“When I went to work with Rogers, Hill told me things about him,” she continues quietly. “Things about his past. She told me so that I wouldn’t hate him so much, so that I would be able to find a common thread with someone that seemed like he couldn’t understand what it meant not to have your partner by your side. He never knew about us, or about this.” She swallows hard. “But holding onto this secret and this place, and knowing that I still had this part of me...it made me feel like I had something to fight for, when you weren’t around.” Her fingers unconsciously scrabble at the arrow necklace sitting at her throat, and Clint places a gentle palm over the cool metal, steadying her fingers along with his hand.

“When SHIELD fell, I did, too. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t have anything left to hold onto.” Her voice breaks on the last word and Clint leans over, kissing her gently while Laura’s head dips forward. “The organization I had believed in for so long, that I always had a place in, it was gone. Nick was dead, and then he wasn't, and I couldn't even know what happened...Nick was like my father. I trusted him and he said he would always be there for me. And when it came down to it, he couldn't even treat me like the daughter he always made me think I was. It hurt, Clint, that he couldn't treat me the way I had been led to believe he cared about me for all these years. Lila sees me as her mom, as her real mom, and I can’t take that away from her. Not when I just had everything taken away from me. It's my responsibility, and I love her.”

Clint feels tears emerge at the corner of his eyes, stinging as they bleed underneath his lids. It’s one of the smallest promises Natasha has made in their relationship, but it’s real and it’s a _promise_ , and Clint _believes_ it, and that’s what matters.

“If I say I’ve been waiting years for you to say something like that, will you judge me?”

“Only a little bit,” Natasha says, turning to look at Laura with an apprehensive look. “What about you? Are you okay with sharing your mom status, eventually?”

Laura sniffles, her eyes shining. “I think I can handle having another mom around,” she agrees. “Besides, we need to be evened out anyway, when little Natasha gets here. We can’t be totally outnumbered on this ranch with two adults and three children.”

Clint feels his face morph into a frown and then an indignant pout. “It’s not a ranch,” he protests as Laura and Natasha exchange quick glances, before breaking into small grins.

“It’s a ranch,” they respond in unison and Clint feels himself relax as the seriousness of the earlier conversation diffuses.

“Fine,” he grumbles, trying to get comfortable. “But let’s face it. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

There’s a subtle change in Natasha’s features that makes him worried, that makes him wonder if he’s once again pushing things too far, even with Natasha’s confirmation that this is the start of something they can finally work towards calling permanent. But then Natasha presses a kiss to his collarbone as she snuggles against him, and Laura is cuddling her warmly from the other side of the bed.

“No,” she says, and he feels the exhale of her response against his skin, a beat of breaths that promise _real_ and _truth_. “I really wouldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played a bit hard and fast with Maria's history, though I tried to keep some things canon. And the specific make of the recurve bow is from Marvel's Wiki, and should be the bow Clint used during the Battle of NY when he was under mind control. Also, yes, these last few chapters will be on the longer end, but hopefully the feelings will be worth it!
> 
> Thank you to all of my readers who continue to motivate me, and special thank you to [geniusorinsanity](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) for getting me through this week in so many ways, and also for getting me up at the crack of dawn on a work day so we could be each other's writing dates. WE'LL FINISH THIS. <3


	20. 2001

“Remind me again why we said we’d write our own vows,” Clint says as he hunches over the table, dragging a finger over the Dell’s laptop keys.

“Because I wanted to. Because it’s meaningful. And because you agreed,” says Laura, raising an eyebrow from across the room of the small apartment. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

“God, no,” Clint says a little too quickly. “But, I mean...I dunno. I’m good at making drinks and taking shots at things. Words, not so much. Except when I’m talking to you, then it feels like I know what I’m doing. And you’re not going to judge me for how I sound.”

Laura shakes her head with a sigh. “They’re vows, Clint. It’s not a research paper. No one is going to care what they sound like, not even me. The important thing is that you write what _you_ feel. And I think you probably just said half of them right now.”

Clint wrinkles his nose as the realization sets in. “Brat,” he mutters and Laura grins.

“Dork.” She reaches for her mug, a large ceramic cup with the words **DAYS UNTIL I’M A MRS.** written on the side in big block letters; above the words is a blank line and space where washable markers can be used to write numbers. In the absence of not having a specific wedding date picked out yet, Clint has taken to drawing small pictures instead, and there’s currently a crude depiction of a panda’s face staring at her. She drinks as Clint goes back to grunting every five minutes, his fingers hitting the computer keys harshly and Laura lets him work for another twenty minutes before she realizes she’s had enough.

“Come here,” she says as she puts down her mug, not looking up, and Clint feigns a whine.

“Why?”

“Because.” Laura rubs at her temples. “You’re supposed to be enjoying this experience of writing vows, and instead you sound like you’re doing the world’s worst work. And quite frankly, I don’t enjoy it. So come do something you _do_ enjoy.”

Clint’s eyebrows quirk and Laura rolls her own eyes. “I didn’t mean sex, Clint.”

Clint’s face falls just enough for Laura to know that even if he protests differently, that’s where his mind was going, and he walks over to the couch.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to move in here,” Clint says as he flops down next to her, putting his head on her shoulder. “I need a real apartment.”

“And we’ll get one,” Laura promises, looking at the small studio that’s functioning as their home at the moment. It wasn’t that they didn’t know exactly where to live -- Laura knew she would stay in Iowa -- but without knowing their financial situation until after the wedding, it was making it hard to look for places.

“You still have to _find_ a job,” Clint reminds her and Laura makes a face.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me of that. I had blissfully forgotten my future is at stake.” Her phone beeps once, and she reaches for it with a sigh. “And apparently, I had also forgotten we’re supposed to figure out a time to have dinner with my parents.”

It’s Clint’s turn to scrunch up his nose in annoyance, and Laura gives him a look. “Clint, I haven’t seen them since we got back from the lake house, and they want to see the ring. Are you worried my father’s going to trap you in the basement or something?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Clint mutters and Laura groans loudly.

“Seriously. Are you ever going to get over _not_ being intimidated by my dad?”

Clint sits up, looking stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Laura lets out a breath. “It means what it sounds like,” she says bitingly. “You’ve been obsessed with how he thinks of you from the first day you met.”

“So _what_?”

Laura feels herself growing frustrated. “So, that’s not normal. I understand he can be a little overwhelming. I know what he makes you think about. I get that, Clint, I do, but --”

“You don’t!” Clint bursts out angrily, slamming his hand down on the small coffee table. “You _don’t_ , Laura. You don’t know what it feels like to be me. You don’t know what it feels like when your dad looks into my eyes and all I can think about is how I’m worthless.”

Laura stares at him for a long time, before getting to her feet. “You’re right,” she says after a moment, gesturing towards him. “I _don’t_ know, Clint. Because you never talk about your family, ever.” She takes a long breath and then sits back down carefully, pulling her leg up and facing him. “So why don’t you tell me?”

The expression on Clint’s face tells her he thinks he doesn’t deserve her quiet tone or even her attention, and Laura softens her gaze, holding out a hand that Clint takes almost immediately.

“My, uh...my dad was an alcoholic,” he says after a pause. “I’m sure there was a point where he wasn’t, but it’s all I can remember. He never...well, I wasn’t really much to write home about as a kid, anyway,” Clint continues self-deprecatingly and Laura feels her face crease into concerned wrinkles.

“Clint…”

He offers her a sad smile. “Look, I don’t hate your dad, Laura. And I don’t think your dad is a bad person. How could I? He raised you, and you’re...you’re beautiful and smart and kind, and there should be ten thousand women in the world like you. And I still don’t know why you’re bothering with me. I don’t know why you’re even _looking_ at me.”

Laura blinks back tears. “I look at you because I love you,” she says firmly. “Because you treat me better than any other guy I’ve ever met. You believe in me, and you look out for me, and your personality speaks more about you than anything you’ve done with your life. I just wish you would believe me when I tell you that.”

Clint swallows hard, looking away. “When your dad looks at me, all I see is _my_ dad,” he says quietly. “Looking back at me, telling me I can’t be enough for you. For anyone that ever wants to try and love me.”

Laura suddenly feels like she wants to throw up, her stomach churning with a mixture of rage and fierce adoration. She grabs for his hand, suddenly hit with an overwhelming urge to hold him and protect him. “You _are_ enough,” she says softly, bringing his hand to the side of her face and letting it rest there. “I promise.” She finds his eyes, trying to smile. “And I didn’t know, about your dad.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he mumbles, not meeting her eyes. “Not because I thought you’d judge me. I just…I wanted to leave all that behind. You were a fresh start for me, and I wanted to keep it that way.”

Laura nods, tracing a hand down his face. “I know you did,” she says softly. “But I _need_ you to be honest with me, Clint. Because we’re going to be married, and we’re going to start a life together, and I need you to be okay with telling me things that bother you. I don’t mind if I have to pull them out of you, in the end.” She smiles sadly. “But I can’t do that if I don’t know how to find them in the first place.”

Clint nods, looking pained. “I know. And I’m sorry that it all came out this way. I guess I’m just not used to trusting, or opening up. No one’s ever really bothered to care that much before.”

Laura clenches her jaw to keep herself from becoming too emotional, leaning into him as she listens to his words, her chest aching for all the people over the years who never gave Clint a chance to be even a little bit loved. “If I’m the first person to unconditionally love you, then I am honored to be that girl,” she says softly, kissing him. “Trust me. Trust _us_.” When she pulls away, she sees the tears he can’t hide and she hugs him tighter, enveloping him in her embrace.

“I do.”

 

***

 

The easy part of getting married at the lake house is figuring out the best time of year to do it, and the hard part is narrowing down an actual date. Laura opposes April on the grounds that the weather could still fluctuate and Clint vetoes July because of his birthday, despite the fact that Laura tries to get him to agree on the fact it could be nice to have a good memory, to balance out what she knows are rather unfortunate ones -- Clint had never been one to care about his own birthday. Eventually, they settle on mid-August, which gives them enough time to make the requisite preparations and for Laura to find a dress that’s both affordable and fancy enough.

“No one tells you that being the groom is the worst,” Clint complains as Laura drives them to her parents house a few nights later, having finally found a time where Clint could get a night off from the bar in order to come along. “I don’t get to read your vows, and I don’t even get to see your dress.”

“And I don’t get to read _your_ vows either,” Laura reminds him as she turns down a steeper road. “We only have a few months left, Clint. I think you can manage.”

“A few months until you can officially become Mrs. Laura Barton,” he says matter-of-factly; they had decided right after their engagement Laura would take his name and that had never been a question, despite Clint’s worry that Laura might want to wait a few months. Laura smiles to herself.

“You know, I never thought I’d want to give up my last name,” she muses. “I always thought it was pretty good, as far as last names go. But I actually _like_ the sound of it.”

“Meant to be,” Clint says and Laura rolls her eyes as they continue to drive, until they’re pulling up in front of a sprawling colonial house with a wide porch and a long driveway. Despite the cozy walls, the copious amounts of tea, and the warm hugs from Elizabeth Foster, it’s taken awhile for Clint to feel at home in the space Laura’s parents have made for themselves -- though Clint would be lying if he didn't admit it had gotten easier over the past year and a half since he had officially met and became involved with Laura’s family. Still, Clint can’t help but feel like he's the odd man out when it comes to the Fosters, especially when he’s surrounded by a home that has all the makings of a proud, strong family, right down to Bob’s Air Force accolades that decorate the foyer and the numerous photos of Laura from her baby days to her college days adorning the halls.

“Mom, stop it,” Laura says, her face coloring in embarrassment as Elizabeth pushes them together for photos almost as soon as they walk through the door. “We’ll take some professional pictures with the ring, I promise.”

“I know.” Elizabeth is positively beaming. “But I want to document this moment. And the ring is beautiful, Clint.”

Laura manages to shoot Clint a _told you so_ look as he rubs a hand unconsciously over the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he says with a strained smile as Elizabeth leans in for a hug. Laura snakes her free hand around his waist, kissing Clint softly on the cheek before heading off to the kitchen to help prepare dinner, leaving Clint alone with Bob in the large entryway. Clint feels like he wanted to curse her for the obvious set-up, but he knows as well as she does that he needs the time with Laura’s father, at least in order to attempt to feel more comfortable around him.

“Well, let’s have a drink,” Bob says after a long silence, striding towards the living room, and Clint follows slowly as Laura’s father walks to a large cabinet in the corner. He opens it up, revealing a few bottles of liquor and takes out a half-empty bottle of Woodford Reserve, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a glass and holding it out. “Laura told me you want to get married at the lake house.”

Clint nods, taking the offered drink. “Yeah. We do. We agreed that it would be the best place for us,” he says as he sips his drink, fighting the urge to down it all at once. Bob pours his own glass, swirling the amber liquid around, and nods.

“It’s a good idea, actually. That house has been in our family for ages. It holds a lot of meaning. Elizabeth and I spent a lot of time there after we got married. As a kid, I spent a lot of summers there, before my brother passed away a few years ago. We used to make frequent visits with Laura when she was younger, for vacations and birthdays, especially if we could get away with a few friends. And we would’ve gone up there more, but we stopped visiting regularly after Laura got older...it was hard to find the time to appreciate it since we were so busy.”

“Uh huh,” Clint grunts, trying to figure out what to say, attempting to determine if Bob is backhandedly fishing for a way to force him into sharing his own “cozy family secrets” that Clint knows don’t exist the same way they do in Laura’s world. After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Bob clears his throat quietly.

“To be honest, it’s not what I would have picked, but you and Laura seem to have a good sense of what you want for yourself. You obviously trust each other. And that’s important.”

Clint lets out a breath he hasn’t been aware he’s been holding, finally meeting Bob’s eyes. “Really?” He knows he can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, and he can’t help it. Bob furrows his brow, indicating for Clint to sit down.

“What do you think about me, Clint?”

“Uh.” Clint takes another drink, trying to stall his thoughts considerably. “I think you’re a great father, sir. And very smart. Laura has a very nice family, and I’m very lucky that soon I’m going to have the chance to be a part of it.”

Bob smiles faintly, sitting back in his chair. “That’s all?”

 _Well, no. I also think you’re totally intimidating, and I’m pretty sure you think I’m not good enough for Laura no matter what I do, and I’m probably never going to be good enough for you anyway, and I just wish you wouldn’t make me feel so crappy about it._ Clint nods lamely, and Bob nods back with the barest hint of a smile.

“Look. I like you, Clint. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure about you, at first.”

“No kidding,” Clint mutters under his breath as he lowers himself to the hard leather chair, unable to help himself from saying the words out loud. Fortunately, Bob appears not to be listening, too caught up in making himself comfortable in his own seat.

“But, I have to admit...after seeing how happy Laura is, and how well you’ve treated her...well, I don’t think I have many doubts anymore.” He inclines his head. “I’ve also never seen Laura so dedicated to someone before. You must have been raised with some good family values, because my daughter has never wanted to be with someone unless she was sure they had a strong sense of direction in their life, especially when it came to their future.”

Clint chokes back a laugh, forcing the sound down his throat with the help of a quick drink. “Depends on how you define family values,” he says after a moment, deciding to choose his words carefully. “I guess I did learn what was important in a relationship, and what wasn’t.”

Bob frowns a little and then nods again. “I’m not going to ask you about your family, Clint. I trust Laura, and I don’t feel like it’s my place to judge you for how you might have grown up, when I can see that you’re a perfectly competent, mature and responsible person. But whatever you learned, it made you a good man. Certainly a good enough man to take care of my daughter for the rest of her life.” He gives a half-smile, looking up towards the kitchen, where Laura and her mother are working on dinner. “Laura’s the happiest she’s ever been, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”

Clint lets out a slow breath, realizing he’s been holding in all his oxygen during Bob’s words without knowing it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her, too,” he admits honestly and Bob sighs quietly.

“Laura’s sometimes too headstrong for her own good. She always has been. It's good for her when it comes to things like school, but she’s got a lot of her grandmother’s spark. We worry about her, naturally, even though we probably don’t need to. She’s always known what she’s wanted and gone after it. She’s always had good instincts.” He pauses to take another drink and then holds his cup out. “Just make sure you take care of her, Clint. And not just as a husband.”

Clint looks up, catching sight of Bob in his chair, framed against a wedding photo of his own next to a photo of Laura. It’s one from her high school days, what Clint supposes must be her senior portrait, and she’s smiling genuinely at the camera in a way that makes Clint’s heart beat a little faster. Suddenly, for the first time since meeting Laura’s parents, Clint thinks that he can smile at Laura’s father without feeling like it’s a forced reaction, or one that he’s afraid of showing.

“Yeah,” he says, clinking his glass with all the confidence he can muster as Bob smiles back, pride settling in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Bob. I will.”

Their conversation is broken a few moments later by Laura returning to the room -- no doubt, Clint thinks, to rescue him, though for the first time in his life he thinks he can sit with Laura’s dad and not feel like he wants to crawl under a table. Elizabeth thankfully soon brings out more pre-dinner drinks before inviting everyone to the table for a full meal.

“Woah.” Clint can’t help himself as he sits down at the long mahogany table, looking at the spread of food set before him, more than he’s seen in a long time and certainly more than he’s ever seen Laura make even when they have nice dinners together. “You, uh, you sure no one else is coming to this dinner? Like, maybe sixteen other family members I’m unaware of?”

Laura laughs as she sits down next to him. “You should’ve seen the feast she put together for my high school graduation. I think we had leftovers for three weeks.”

“Two, actually,” Elizabeth says, gesturing towards the table and Clint adjusts himself in his chair. “Don’t let that stop you, Clint. Eat, or you’ll be taking a lot of it home yourself.”

Clint hesitates and then decides to take Elizabeth up on her offer, piling his plate high with turkey and green beans and stuffing, while Laura talks about job searching and about possible wedding plans. When Laura gets up to help her mother with the dessert trays and coffee roughly a hour later, Clint finds himself shifting nervously in his seat.

“Bob.”

Laura’s father puts down his fork, raising an eyebrow curiously. Clint takes a deep breath, going over the words he’s been reciting in his mind over and over again, hoping they come out the way he wants them to.

“I, uh. I realized I didn’t ask. For your permission. I know it’s the right thing to do, and, uh...well, I know it’s a bit late. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier. But I think you know that I love Laura, more than anything, and I want to take care of her for the rest of my life. And I’d love if you would give me permission to marry your daughter.”

Bob stares at Clint for a long time, long enough for Clint to wonder if maybe he's made a mistake after all. But then Bob smiles, raising his glass in an approving toast.

“I’d be very happy with my daughter marrying a man as loyal and as good as you, Clint,” says Bob, taking a long sip of wine. As he says the words, Clint feels his stomach flutter in both relief and happiness, and he’s still smiling when Laura returns to the table with a quizzical look.

“You’re happy,” she observes quietly as she puts down his coffee, and he smiles more when he realizes she’s specifically taken care of making him a cup the way she knows he likes it -- all black, with a teaspoon of milk.

“I’m with you,” he responds under his breath, because it’s the truth, and Laura gives him a quick kiss on the cheek in response. A few hours later, after dessert and coffee have been settled into their stomachs, after Laura has hugged her parents enough times and after Clint has promised that he’ll be better at visiting even when Laura isn’t around, they climb back into the car and drive in silence until Laura reaches over and takes Clint’s hand.

“Better?” she asks quietly, and Clint doesn’t have to ask what she means.

“Yeah,” he says, letting out a sigh. Laura slows at a stoplight and gives him a small smile.

“You know, my dad took me aside before we left and told me he really was happy we were getting married.” She runs a finger over his hand. “I guess you made an impression on him tonight.”

Clint tries to stop the grin that wants to take over his face as he thinks of Bob giving him his approval for marrying Laura. “Well, he gave me expensive whiskey and didn’t poison it, so I think we’re okay.”

Laura gives him a look but she’s also grinning as she steps on the gas pedal, forcing the car to move again.

“I finished my vows,” she says after a moment. “While you and my dad were talking.”

Clint looks surprised. “I thought you were helping your mom with dinner.”

“I was,” Laura says with a small shrug. “But when we finished, before we all sat down to eat, I snuck upstairs for a bit and decided to see if I could get something out...turns out, I work well under pressure.”

Clint’s quiet for a long time, letting silence fill the space between them. “I don’t get to read it, right?”

“Clint.” Laura laughs a little. “No. Of course you don’t get to read it. Not until I stand with you in front of that lake and you give me my wedding ring. And even _then_ you don’t get to read it, because I get to read it to you.”

Clint smiles back, leaning his head against the seat. “Everything I want to say, when I think about _what_ I want to say about you, it sounds wrong,” he admits. “I have to say it in front of your parents, and you, and...what if I say the wrong thing? What if it doesn’t come out the right way and I look like an idiot?”

“You can’t say the wrong thing,” Laura says placidly. “I promise.” When Clint doesn’t answer, Laura slows the car, pulling over on the dark road.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks curiously as he peers through the front window, squinting into the darkness that he sometimes thinks, even after all these years of living in the Midwest, he’s still not used to. Laura doesn’t immediately answer, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Get in the backseat,” she says as she turns off the engine and then opens the car door. Clint opens his mouth in protest but then closes it when the door slams in his face, slowly unbuckling himself and sliding out of the car.

“Laura?” He opens the back door and finds her sitting across from him, smiling. “Okay. What the hell are we doing?”

“I told you. We’re going to practice.”

“Huh?” Clint still feels confused, but climbs in and closes the door, entombing them in both darkness and quiet.

“Since you seem to still be worried about your vows and can’t seem to believe me when I say it’ll be fine, we’re going to practice. Right here.”

Clint blinks in the dark. “You mean...in the middle of the road?”

“We could stop at a diner or something, if you want,” Laura suggests and Clint laughs out loud, shaking his head.

“I think that would be even stranger than sitting here like two teenagers who are about to make out in the back of their parents’ car.”

Laura shrugs, dancing her fingers over his shoulder. “I never got to do that as a teen,” she says a little mischievously and when he turns his face towards her, she kisses him gently. Clint reacts instantly, pushing his lips back against hers.

“I thought we were supposed to practice our vows,” he says quietly when he breaks away. Laura puts one hand on his chest.

“I _am_ practicing them,” she says, leaning over to lick a spot on his ear. “As you can see, I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. And you shouldn’t be, either.”

“Laura…” The words die in his throat as her mouth moves down the curve of his jaw, her hand dipping to reach underneath his shirt. She runs her hand over a series of scars, her fingers emitting a sensation that feels like dozens of electrical sparks that make him jump and moan.

“Say them,” Laura instructs as Clint pushes his weight forward, until Laura topples back onto the seat.

“I love you,” he murmurs, burying his face in her hair, his hands cupping her breasts. “You make me feel safe. You make me feel whole. You love me and I love you and I will never let you go through life alone, ever.”

“You have to _promise_ ,” Laura manages as he starts kissing her with more vigor, and he can almost feel himself coming apart on top of her, not so much a sexual reaction but a rush of stress and worry that bleeds out of him and allows him to let go of everything that’s been clouding his mind for most of the night. Clint raises his head, locking into her eyes, and breathes deeply, relishing in the scent of Laura’s strawberry-scented lotion and hints of lavender perfume.

“I promise.”

 

***

 

The day before the wedding, everyone drives up to the lake house together, Clint and Laura in one car and Laura’s parents in the other. After a quiet dinner where Bob makes a toast and shares stories of Laura’s childhood days at the house (including a story Laura wants to yell at him for that includes disappearing in the middle of the night to search for rumors of a haunted path in the woods) they drink coffee in the indoor porch, where Laura brings out her “DAYS UNTIL I’M A MRS.” mug that has now been marked by Clint with a large number one. Clint makes her take more than one photo with it that he instantly decides he’s going to use as the wallpaper for his phone despite Laura’s eye rolls and threats to throttle him in his sleep, which earn her a few disapproving glances from her father.

“Last night,” Clint says quietly as he pulls down the covers on the king-sized bed they're sharing and Laura shivers in the wake of his words.

“You know nothing is going to change,” she says, tracing her hand over his sternum as he lies back next to her. “Except maybe I’ll love you more, being officially married to you.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to call me on my shit more,” Clint says grudgingly. “I know you will.”

“Well, that goes without saying.” Laura snuggles into him. “Honestly, I can’t believe someone actually wants to marry me.”

“Are you serious? You can’t be serious.” Clint turns over, staring at her as if she’s lost her mind and Laura nods slowly.

“I am,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t know how you see me, Clint, but I never thought anyone would look at me and fall in love.”

“Jesus.” Clint huffs out a laugh. “I should be the one surprised you’re marrying _me_. I’m a mess. I don’t have a formal education past high school. Not even high school, I mean, I went back after coming home from overseas and I got my GED for kicks, but still.”

“And you know that I care about none of that stuff,” Laura says, taking his hand and wrapping their fingers together tightly. “Besides, I’m still confused as to how someone who didn’t go to college or finish high school can be the most well-read person I’ve ever met. Even more well-read than my mother.”

Clint looks a little embarrassed. “Years of reading in the military when I had to keep myself occupied,” he says quietly. “And also between jobs and shifts at the bar. I picked up anything and everything I could, because I liked not thinking of the real world. Guess I went a little overboard.”

Laura smiles and burrows into his shoulder. “I fully expect our house to be lined with bookshelves, you know.” She pauses, thinking. “Maybe two, if we can afford it.”

“Alphabetically organized,” Clint adds, and Laura laughs, kissing him.

“Naturally.” She closes her eyes, taking in the silence of the room and the soft breeze and faint sound of waves lapping on the beach from the open window. She doesn’t even realize that she’s fallen asleep, not until she’s woken up by movement from the other side of the bed. Laura makes a noise as she rolls over, reaching for Clint, her hand meeting nothing but an empty space. It’s enough to bring her fully awake and she blinks the tiredness out of her eyes slowly, scooting up until she can make out Clint’s form in the dark; he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, his spine tight.

“What’s up?” Laura asks quietly, swallowing down sleep, and Clint doesn’t move.

“I can’t sleep,” he says in a low voice, one that sounds too hesitant, and Laura reaches out until she can touch the back of his shoulder.

“Clint.”

There’s no answer and Laura throws the covers back, moving until she can reach him from behind, wrapping her arms around him. His heart is a jackhammer against his chest and his breathing is less steady than usual, she notices, a hyperventilation of sorts that worries her. She presses her face to his back in an attempt to anchor him the only way she knows how.

“We’re getting married.”

Laura nods against him. “Yes,” she says quietly. “We are. Because I love you.”

Clint laughs quietly and then bows his head. “I love you, too. So why am I nervous?”

Laura hugs him tighter. “You’re _allowed_ to be nervous,” she says gently. “And so am I. Getting married is a huge commitment.”

“I know,” he says a little miserably. “Which is why I don’t want you to think I’m nervous about spending the rest of my life with you. Because I’m not. You know I’m not.”

“I know you’re not,” Laura repeats, running her hands up and down his bare back, because she does. She hesitates before continuing. “Is this about your parents? Your brother?”

Clint shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I just never thought I’d get married. Not that I ever stayed with anyone long enough to find out, but I just keep thinking...I don’t know. My dad married my mom, and maybe there was something there at the beginning, something she could’ve avoided if she knew what kind of person he was underneath all his charm and his looks. But she chose not to care about that. It turns out, he was a mess. They both paid for it, but maybe they could’ve avoided being so unhappy. Or getting killed.”

“You think that I’m marrying you and then you’re going to turn out to be someone I don’t want to be with? Someone who is bad for me?” Laura tries to keep the frustration out of her voice, because she’s not angry as much as she’s hurt and sad. “How can you even think that?”

“How can I not?” Clint asks in the dark, tensing more and Laura sighs quietly.

“I know I haven’t known you forever,” she says slowly. “I _know_ that. But I think I _do_ know you pretty well. Enough to be secure about my future with you. And Clint, maybe there are things I don’t know about you, things that I’ll find out once we get married, and maybe that goes for me, too. But whatever it is, we’ll work through it, together. That’s what we’re _vowing_ to do.”

Clint nods, and Laura starts kneading his back in comforting circles.

“You know, I’m starting to think the man I fell in love with at the bar was a hologram that day,” she jokes and Clint manages a laugh.

“I’m confident about myself most of the time,” he says resignedly. “That’s the funny part. At my job, in general...with you, it’s different. I’m just vulnerable. You make me a different person, Laura. When I’m with you, I’m not...I’m not a bartender or some army guy with no education who fell into a relationship he feels he doesn’t deserve. I don’t know if that’s good or…”

“Or?” Laura holds her breath for a reason she’s not sure of, and Clint swallows hard.

“Or what I’ve been needing my entire life.”

Laura's throat grows tight and she turns his head, kissing him gently. He kisses back greedily, as if he needs to remind himself that she’s air to breathe, that she’s real and whole in front of him. Laura kisses him until her lungs burn enough to remind her that she needs a break for air, and when she releases his lips, she moves to kiss his nose instead.

“You remember what I told you? When we had that talk about your parents?”

“Stay with me,” Clint echoes quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hadn’t been said out loud at the time, Laura remembers, but like so many things in their relationship, it wasn’t a sentiment that had needed to be vocalized. Laura tugs at his shoulders until they fall back onto the covers, tangling in each other’s limbs, making slow love under the guise of dawn. Laura wakes up some hours later to find that she's warm and comfortable, completely encased in soft sheets and blankets, and as she slowly comes back to consciousness, she also starts to notice the gentle breath that winds across her face, soft lips against her cheek, her forehead, and eventually her mouth. She smiles lazily, keeping her eyes closed as Clint continues to pepper her face with kisses.

“Morning, Mrs. Barton,” he whispers across her lips, and Laura becomes aware of the strong smell of coffee. When she finally opens her eyes, Clint’s leaning over the bed, placing Laura’s **DAYS TIL I’M A MRS.** mug on the bedside table. The previously written “1” has been rubbed off and in its place, Clint has drawn a zero surrounded by a heart.

“Morning,” Laura returns when she finds her voice, snuggling back under the covers. She knows it has to be early and she should be up, because there’s far too much to do before the ceremony, but right now she’s ignoring it all in favor of staying in this moment a little longer -- the moment somewhere between Laura Foster, Iowa girl with too much of an interest in education and Laura Barton, committed wife to a bartender with a heart of gold. Clint seems to understand because he crawls over her, back into bed, wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing her again.

“I hope you don’t make me retire that mug after today,” she says, breathing in the caffeinated air wafting down from the table. Clint shakes his head against her.

“Don’t be silly. We’re gonna keep it forever." He nuzzles his face in her hair. "Also, your parents are already up.”

Laura smiles lazily. “I figured. You should know by now that anyone who’s ever been in the army or military never sleeps past five.”

“Or the Air Force,” Clint reminds her, and Laura hums quietly.

“Today’s going to be good,” she decides and Clint holds her more tightly.

“Of course it is. It’s going to be the best day of my life.”

Laura turns over, sitting up slowly in bed. She reaches for her coffee while Clint falls silent, staring at her until Laura finally narrows her gaze.

“What?”

Clint smiles. “Nothing. You just look cute like that. The messy hair and all.”

Laura snorts into her coffee cup while one hand reaches up to brush down what she knows is a tangled mess of matted brown strands. “My hair will look a lot better later, trust me.”

“I know.” Clint moves, sitting up and leaning over to kiss her, before getting out of bed. “And I know you have to go get ready, but I have one more thing I need to do with you before we go our separate ways."

“And what’s that?” Laura asks with a raised brow. “Moreover, dare I ask how you’re making sure my parents aren’t banging down the door?”

“Met your dad in the kitchen while I was getting coffee and told them I wanted some time alone with you, before we got ready.” He winks. “Completely innocent, by the way. I think they understood. Anyway.” He moves across the room, rooting through his bag, and Laura finds herself smiling, tucking hair behind her ear as she takes another sip of coffee, leaning over to watch him. When he unearths what she recognizes is her own make-up case, she looks up in surprise.

“You’re going to do my make-up?”

“Yes,” Clint says with a smile. “The basics, at least. If you’ll let me.”

Laura nods slowly, trying to ignore how the moment feels like a rehearsed and pretend “I do” in the wake of the real one that she knows will happen in a few hours. She puts the coffee cup down and shakes the rest of the sleep out of her body as Clint walks back to the bed, sitting down.

“Eyes, lashes, lips. Frame the face,” he says conversationally as he opens the case, and Laura can’t help but think of what their life might be like if children were ever in the picture. She forces herself to ignore the image in her mind, the one she can see so clearly, of Clint sitting with his daughter and attempting to put lipstick and blush on her small features while laughing and holding her steady with one arm. The moment is something she desperately wants to imagine and let herself fantasize about, but she also knows they need to get through this particular milestone and commitment before they can even discuss that aspect of their future.

Laura’s known that Clint is good with his hands, and not just when it comes to making her feel good -- she’s seen him play darts, she’s seen him fiddle everything from pencils to drumsticks deftly between his fingers, and she’s even seen him cook, kneading bread with precision. She’s also known that he had picked up some skills as a make up artist in his time between jobs, though it’s something that had never been explored between them until now. He works smoothly and quickly, applying blush and concealer and then eye shadow to her face, his fingers feeling like gentle brushes of comfort against her skin, and Laura thinks she might fall asleep all over again just from being so content.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when she’s been quiet too long, and Laura tries to keep herself from smiling too much, or for that matter, crying and ruining his work.

“How much I love you,” she says, fighting to keep her voice steady as Clint pulls back, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

 

***

 

Laura’s dress is one that her mother has helped pick out, a simple white gown that falls to her ankles with a plunging v-neck and capped sleeves, small rhinestones dotting the edges and a sash around the middle. Laura had chosen it because it not so subtly reminded her of her wedding ring, and as Elizabeth helps her adjust the veil, she finds her breath catching in her throat.

“I can’t believe my daughter’s getting married,” Elizabeth says as she steps back, admiring the scene. “This is the perfect place, Laura. It feels right.”

Laura tries to hold back her smile, attempting not to give in to her emotions too early, and then her mother helps her gather the long train of her veil as she walks out of the bedroom and into the living room. She knows Clint’s already headed down to the lake, and Laura can just barely make out the back of his black tux as he passes by the window.

“No peeking,” Elizabeth chastises as she helps Laura adjust her dress. “Your dad tried to do that with me, and it very nearly backfired. I yelled at him throughout our whole honeymoon.”

Laura laughs. “I promise I'll be good. But I’ve had to hold him off from trying to see my dress for months,” she says before turning around and taking a breath. Elizabeth meets her eyes, and Laura doesn’t have to wait for her mother’s question before she feels her stomach settle, immediately knowing the answer.

 _I’m ready,_ she thinks to herself as she walks out of the house, allowing herself a brief moment to be thankful that the day, though slightly overcast, wasn’t even too hot, considering the time of year. She can make out Clint and her father’s friend from the Air Force, who he’s called down to officiate the ceremony. When she gets closer, Bob meets her halfway to kiss her on the cheek and lead her over to Clint, while Elizabeth breaks away.

Laura meets Clint’s eyes and instantly has to stop herself from crying, because there’s a look on his face that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. She’s seen Clint lose his breath over things like the first time they had sex and the first time he saw her in a fancy dress, and even something like the first time she put her hair up and wore glasses instead of contacts, a rare form of letting her guard down. But there’s a different kind of look glossing over Clint’s features as she walks up to him, something that’s flitting between intense love and disbelief. His smile is as wide as anything she’s ever seen, his eyes bright and happy, and there’s a hint of red underneath his lids, as if he’s already been crying. It catches Laura off guard, and she finds herself biting down on her own cry as she takes her place next to him.

“We are gathered here today to join in the marriage of Clinton Francis Barton and Laura Nicole Foster,” begins the officiate. Laura soon tunes out of the formal jargon of the ceremony and loses herself in watching Clint, who turns his gaze, and they lock eyes as a few poems are read and rings are placed on their fingers.

“I, Laura Nicole Foster, take you, Clinton Francis Barton, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” She somehow manages to finish without crying, before reaching for a folded piece of paper that she unwraps and starts to read, adding her own vows that she's written. When she’s done, Clint’s eyes are wet.

He repeats the promise -- a little more slowly -- and then brings out his own typed vows, which he reads with uncharacteristically shaking hands. When he’s done, and when they’ve been pronounced husband and wife, Laura kisses him like the world is ending.

She thinks afterwards that the world _could_ actually end, and if this moment was the last thing she ever remembered, it would be more than enough.

 

***

 

Once they get back from the wedding party at the restaurant, later than usual thanks to too much talking and cleaning up, Laura’s parents retire to their rooms and Laura immediately goes to the master bedroom she’s sharing with Clint, removing her jewelry before taking off her dress and changing into a more comfortable outfit of sweatpants and a loose fitting tee shirt. It occurs to her as she undresses that she hasn’t seen Clint since they’ve gotten back, though she’s not too worried. He had recovered well enough after his moment at the bar to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening, and Laura knows him well enough to know that his resulting enjoyment was genuine, no matter what else was going through his head.

She makes herself comfortable and hangs her dress in the closet next to her real wedding dress, smiling at the sight of both outfits side-by-side before she gets into bed and takes a book from the dresser. She knows she should at least try to keep herself awake until Clint gets back from wherever he's disappeared to, but despite the adrenaline and excitement of the day, she feels her eyes growing heavy against her will the moment she settles in with something that her body associates with a relaxing ritual. She doesn’t realize she’s practically fallen asleep until Clint’s voice jolts her awake.

“Special delivery, sleepyhead.”

Laura sits upright in bed as Clint pokes his head through the door. He’s still in his tux, but his shirt and jacket are open and his hair is spilling across his forehead, unkempt and unnatural, just the way Laura likes it.

“Does that delivery include my now-legal husband?” Laura asks mischievously as she pulls up her hair, dragging fingers through crunchy, product-sprayed strands, her new wedding ring weighing heavily on her finger as if it’s a stark reminder of everything that’s happened in the past few hours. She’d shower tomorrow, when she felt more relaxed. Right now, it feels like doing so would wash away the magic of the whole day.

“It could,” Clint says, undressing and throwing his shirt on the bed before throwing his suit jacket carelessly on top of it. Laura gives him a look.

“That’s rented, remember? And I don’t want to deal with paying extra because you got it dirty.”

“Relax,” Clint says as he slips on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, grabbing an Iowa State sweatshirt that Laura had gotten him as a birthday gift. “We hemmed it, so we’re already screwed even if they don’t figure it out because your work’s so good.”

“ _You’re_ not the one paying for it,” Laura points out.

“Then I’ll make sure I get extra in bar tip if they yell at me,” Clint promises, holding out his hand. “Come on, we’re already late. Let’s go.”

“Let’s go where?” Laura asks curiously. “I thought you wanted to come to bed.”

“Can’t a married man have a little fun, first?” Clint asks with a pout. “Besides, it’s not like we’re getting a honeymoon.”

Laura sighs, trying not to feel guilty about his words, because they didn’t have the means or the interest to do a full honeymoon -- at least, not at the moment. But she had figured they would at least stay the night at the lake house and then spend a few extra days spending time together after Laura’s parents left. Laura never said it, and Clint never asked, but Laura knew that Clint wasn’t someone who cared about jetting off to Havana or Hawaii so he could sit in a cabana and order twenty dollar drinks by the beach. They both preferred their relationship to be intimate, quiet, and defined by the love they felt for each other rather than what they could provide each other materialistically.

“Okay,” she agrees, swinging her legs out of bed. “Why am I getting up?”

“Because I have a surprise,” Clint says, his eyes sparkling. “It’s like, a late wedding gift, kind of. Oh, and bring your vows, okay?”

Laura raises an eyebrow but walks over to the dresser and removes the piece of paper she had carefully stashed there as Clint puts on his shoes, taking her sneakers out of her suitcase and offering them to her.

“Sneakers?” Laura asks suspiciously, and Clint sighs.

“Just do it. Please?”

“Less than eight hours married and bossing me around already,” Laura remarks as she puts the vows in her pocket, bending over to tie her shoes. “I kind of like it.”

“Enough to keep being married to me?” Clint asks cheekily. Laura purses her lips in silent, exaggerated thought.

“Maybe,” she teases. “The sex is pretty great, so I should at least keep you around for that.”

Clint throws a crumpled tissue at her face before walking out of the room and Laura follows, moving past the room her parents are staying in. They both get in the car, Clint at the wheel, and it’s only when they’re halfway down the road and pulling away from the town and the street lights that Laura realizes where they must be going.

“Clint,” she says instantly, putting her hand on his arm. He turns to her with a smile.

“In case you’re worried, there’s a full first aid kit in the trunk. But, I think I’m fully capable of not spraining my ankle this time,” he says as he continues to drive, turning on the radio and fiddling with the dial until he finds a classic rock station. While the strains of James Taylor filter through the speakers, Laura rolls down the window, letting the night wind pull at her hair.

“You know, we never picked a wedding song,” Clint says conversationally over the melodies of “Something In The Way She Moves,” and Laura turns and smiles, letting the lyrics settle into her brain. _I feel fine anytime she’s around now, almost all the time._

“Are you implying something, Mr. Clint Barton?”

Clint doesn’t answer, but keeps humming the song under his breath and Laura closes her eyes until the car comes rolling to a stop in front of the entrance to the trail that they had attempted to hike the day after their engagement, before Clint had suffered his unfortunate ankle sprain. Laura gets out while Clint locks up the car, shouldering what looks like a heavy backpack.

Despite it being summer, it’s still chillier than usual, the sharp wind crawling around Laura’s body and becoming more prominent the higher they climb. Laura finds herself shivering through the layers of her tank top and sweatshirt, wrapping her arms around her chest as she follows Clint slowly up the trail. They both take their time, a combination of tiredness mingled with the drowsiness of the still dark sky, but they manage to make it to the top without any issue. When they reach the end of the trail, trees and roots and rocks giving way to a much smoother terrain that seems to stretch for miles until it reaches the drop of the cliff somewhere in the distance, Clint turns around and blows out a breath of relief.

“Now all we have to do is get down later,” he says as he puts down his backpack on a smooth bed of rocks, unpacking the large quilt he’d taken from the bed. He spreads it out and then opens his arms as Laura joins him, snuggling into his side.

“I never thought I’d be sitting here with my wife watching the sunrise,” Clint says quietly. “I mean, I never thought I’d even _have_ a wife.”

Laura tightens her grip around him. “And I never thought I’d be sitting here with my husband,” she says, putting her head on his shoulder. “Or that I’d have a husband, let alone one as good as you.” She lets them sit in silence for a long time, comforted by the soft sounds of insects and breeze, a natural and beautiful simplistic reminder of what Laura knows is everything she loves about living in the middle of nowhere.

“I told you,” Clint murmurs into her hair. “You’re crazy. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“And any girl would be lucky to have _you_ ,” Laura responds, lacing their fingers together. “I mean it, Clint. Never doubt your worth to me, or to anyone else. Ever.” She kisses his bicep where she can reach it, and then sits up to reach into her back pocket.

“I have them,” she says, removing a piece of paper and holding it out. “The vows, I mean.”

Clint reaches into the pocket of his sweatshirt, taking out a crumpled piece of lined paper. “Me, too. I know...I know you thought it was strange to bring them.”

Laura nods. “Just a little bit,” she says teasingly, and Clint chuckles under his breath.

“I liked that we had a small wedding. And that I got to say the things I wanted to say in front of people, and have them hear how much I loved you. But I thought...now that we’re alone, I thought maybe we could read them again. Just here. Just us.”

Laura looks up sharply and then back down at her hands, her breath catching in her throat at the thought of willing herself to repeat something that she had barely been able to get through the first time around without being a loud, crying mess. She’s not sure that sitting here under the quiet blanket of pre-dawn, with her brand-new husband, secluded and comfortable and intimate, she wouldn’t completely lose it in a very embarrassing way.

“Laura --”

“Okay,” she says when she finds her voice, speaking before she can stop herself. “So read them.”

“Huh?” Clint looks surprised, and Laura forces more firmness into her voice.

“Read them. Your vows. Or am I supposed to go first?”

“You --” Clint stops and then takes a breath, looking down the paper that’s stretched between his hands. For a moment, Laura wonders if he’ll back out even though he had been the one to suggest this whole ordeal in the first place, but then he takes a measured breath and starts talking.

“I’m, uh, I’m not good with words. So when Laura suggested we write our own vows, I almost said no. But then I realized that if I said no, I would be giving up the opportunity to talk about what Laura means to me. And no one in the world can describe that. Because you don’t know Laura like I do.” He pauses, steadying his voice before continuing. “Part of the reason I went overseas was because I didn’t know what to do with myself. I struggled to find any kind of purpose, and I found that purpose the moment Laura walked into my life. She keeps me grounded, and she tells me she loves me, whether it’s because I do the dishes when she’s sick or whether it’s because I’ve helped her through a problem she can’t solve. More than that, she’s willing to catch me when I fall. She was the only person in my life who ever bothered to do that, and I promise to always be there to catch her, so she never knows what it feels like to be alone. No matter what happens to her, or to us, I will love her for the rest of my life. So I’m making her a promise, today and forever. She doesn’t get to die first.” He looks up, gesturing a little too quickly, as if he suddenly wants the attention off of him. “You, now.”

Laura fights to keep her emotions from overflowing as she leans over to look at the paper she’s clutching, even though she knows the words by heart. “Clint likes to tell me that he doesn’t deserve me, because he thinks I’m too smart for him, or because he thinks I should be off seeing the world and doing something important,” she starts slowly. “What I tell him every day is that he _is_ important. From the first moment that we met, Clint was never afraid to be himself. He was unashamed of the person he was, and all he cared about was showing me how much he loved me. That’s never changed, no matter what we’re doing or how far along we are in our relationship.” Laura looks up briefly, and then back down. “Clint and I love each other, but we don’t put our worth in materialistic things. I don’t ask much of Clint, and he doesn’t ask much of me. I only ask that he doesn’t get to die first. Because I need him in my life for as long as I’m around, so he can keep making me feel happy and loved. Because when we’re together, my life is everything I’ve ever wanted it to be. When we’re together, that’s when I want to live. So, Clint Barton, I love you, and this is my vow to you on our wedding day and forever: you don’t get to die first.”

“I don’t get to die first,” Clint repeats in a whisper, and Laura smiles, though her face feels like it’s going to crumple at any moment.

“You know, I think that was stronger than the first time,” she says, trying to keep her voice casual as she hands her vows to Clint, who folds them up and puts them carefully in his pocket. “Less tears, at least.”

Clint pushes hair out of his eyes as he lies down on the blanket, pulling her into his grip, cuddling with her gently.

“ _Better_ than the first time?” he asks, tracing a hand down her cheek, and Laura shivers slightly, snuggling into his arms as the first rays of sunlight start to peek over the hills, staining a dark sky with orange and gold.

“No,” she says after a moment, realizing how happy she is, and how happy she never thought she’d be in a million years. “Not better. Just... _right_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, yes, we are nearing the end! There's one last chapter planned for this monster and brace yourselves because it's going to be hugely long (which will make up for this chapter being on the shorter end) and also full of a TON of feelings. I'm not ready to end this ride but I can't wait to share the ending of this (which has been admittedly planned for months) with all of you.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for commenting and reading, as always, your feelings (and emotions) are what I live for.


	21. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, kids. Strap yourselves in, grab a tissue and prepare for feelings. You've been warned.

“Aren’t you going to the party?”

Clint looks up from the bed, tearing his gaze away from the covers where he’s been staring at an array of arrows and his quiver. “In a bit,” he says with a shrug and a half-smile, and Natasha’s brow creases immediately in concern.

“Are you feeling okay? You’re not still hurting are you?”

“Nah,” Clint says, waving his hand around. “I’m fine, I swear. Not even hurting.” He pauses, playing with one of his arrows, and then meets her eyes again. “You look good.”

Natasha feels herself blush and tries to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks as she catches sight of herself in the mirror across the room, a fully made up face and curled hair. “I’ve hated Stark’s parties ever since he blew up his own house a few years ago,” she admits after a minute, pulling at the waistline of her dress. “But it’s a chance to relax, and it’s an excuse to wear something nice, and…”

“And you don’t have to think about being stuck in the field?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “Must be nice to feel like you get a break sometimes, from being useful.”

Natasha’s heart breaks in half at his response. It’s not in his words -- those are carefully phrased to sound nonchalant, down to the inflection -- but she picks up instantly on the self-loathing and self-deprecation that he can’t hide, the feelings she suspects he’s been keeping in check since Sokovia.

“You’re not useless, you know,” she says quietly, moving closer to him so that she can sit down. “I shouldn’t have joked earlier. I was scared, still...and you know that I don’t like people seeing me that way, except if they’re you. Or Laura.”

“But you weren’t joking,” Clint says tiredly, raising his head. “You were being honest. I mean, look at all of us out there. We get in the field, and I’m the first one to get hit. Not only do I get hit, but I get hit bad enough to be put out of commission. To warrant extraction. _This_ is why I didn’t want to join up in the first place, Nat. Because I’m never going to be able to measure up to the big guns. I know that.”

“You’re talking as if you haven’t proven yourself,” Natasha argues gently. “You’re one of the most important members of this team, because you _do_ understand what it feels like to be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable.” Clint makes a face. “You told me I was getting older...maybe you’re right. Thor and Cap don’t age. Banner, it doesn’t matter because he’s not himself when he needs to be in the field anyway. And as long as Stark can fly around with the protection of his suits, he’s golden.”

“And you’re telling me you’re too old for avenging now because even though you can keep up with everyone, one hit in the field when you were thrown off guard by an unsuspecting enhanced variable -- which you were able to heal from with no issue, thanks to technology -- makes you weak?”

“Yeah, but that’s just it,” Clint says dejectedly, throwing an arrowhead across the room. “I mean, Cho’s science is great and all, but would I have healed any quicker if it was me spraining my ankle or breaking my arm?”

Natasha sighs quietly, knowing that whatever response she gives will be deflected by another self-deprecating remark, and Clint traces a scar on his arm.

“You know Stark told me that Loki tried to use his staff on him? Before the battle started in New York? He couldn’t, because of the arc reactor, I guess.” Clint lowers his head and lets out a laugh. “Couldn’t control a man, even without an iron suit. But me...me, I couldn’t even fight against him. I didn’t even get a chance to.”

“Yes, because you didn’t have something robot-like stuck in your chest. Which, by the way, makes him _not_ a man,” Natasha says sharply, feeling tears spring to her eyes unnecessarily and shoving them back. “And you need to stop with your stupid self-loathing. What would Laura say if she heard you talk like this?”

Clint stays quiet for a long time. “She’d tell me to stop being stupid and that she loves me,” he says finally. “And that if you love someone, that’s enough.”

“It is,” Natasha agrees, taking his hand. “I know you feel like you don’t matter, Clint. But you’re one of the most valuable players out of all of us. You’re smart, and you’re sharp, and you’re grounded. You see things from a human’s perspective.”

“You do, too,” he says listlessly, and Natasha shakes her head.

“No. I’m human, but I wasn’t made human.” She tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You have a wife. A family. Kids. You have a marriage, you’ve celebrated holidays and birthdays and anniversaries and you have a _life_ , Clint. You have a life that came before this job, and a life outside of this team that makes you look at things differently.” She strokes his hair, letting her fingers settle at the base of his neck. “That’s not a bad thing. That makes you _important_.”

Clint huffs out a sigh, throwing the arrow he’s been fiddling with to the ground, and smiles half-heartedly.

“Important enough to get a pep talk from my partner and my lover?”

“Well.” Natasha gets up, putting her hands on her knees. “I almost lost you, and I definitely was not prepared for that.” She tries to keep her voice from breaking on the words. “I gotta get in my motivational speeches somehow, right? Just in case.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, looking up and grabbing her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. “Yeah, you do.”

Natasha smiles and leans forward, kissing him gently, fingers entwining in his hair as she pulls him close. She knows she’ll never admit to anyone, except maybe Laura, how terrified she had been when he first got hit, how she had swallowed down her own bile at seeing his torn flesh and hearing the irregular pattern of his breathing as he fought to remain conscious in the snow. The memory makes her want to stay in this moment forever, because it’s one of the only moments she knows that they’ll be able to share together -- at least, until the night ends. Once they were outside of the walls of their room and back with their team, it would also be back to keeping their distance the way they’d done for years, hiding their emotions and words in glances, looks, touches and secret codes so well-practiced, they could do them in their sleep. While Natasha wasn’t entirely sold on the fact that none of her teammates knew about their relationship, especially since to them Clint was an eligible assassin bachelor with a best friend and partner he would give his life for, she also wasn’t about to give anyone the satisfaction of confirmation that there _was_ something more between them.

She pulls away from his mouth when her lungs signal a break for oxygen, trailing her fingers down his face as hot breaths pepper her cheeks, his own face flushed and, Natasha notices, wet with the start of tears. She kisses the water away from his lids, running her tongue over his lashes, and then brings him close once more for a tight hug before letting go.

“See you at the party, Barton.”

 

***

 

After everything goes to hell with Ultron, Clint retreats to his room and showers, trying to wash the ache and stress out of his body. He stands under the hot spray, picking small shards of glass out of his skin and tries to forget the intensity of the situation -- the way everything had escalated so quickly, the way his night had shifted from good-natured superhero bantering to fighting for his life against killer robots. When he comes out, towel wrapped around his waist and bandages lining his arm where he’s patched himself up from some of the deeper cuts, Natasha’s sitting on his bed, visibly shaking even though Clint knows it’s about seventy degrees in the Tower, according to Stark’s temperature controls.

“Here,” Clint says quietly, unearthing the terrycloth sweatshirt from his bag and handing it out after he discards his towel in favor of loose fitting clothing. “Stole it back from Laura before we left home.”

“Thanks,” Natasha says quietly, taking it from his hands and wrapping it around her body. She doesn’t stop shaking but she does at least look a little calmer, the color coming back into her face as she zips it up and burrows into the fabric. “I’m okay.”

Clint raises an eyebrow at her blatant lie. “Yeah, well. We all took a hit back there,” he answers. “It’s okay if you’re not one hundred and ten percent, you know?”

Natasha smiles slowly. “Look who’s talking, Cap Jr.” She bumps his shoulder as he sits next to her on the bed and then turns to him, her exhausted eyes clouded in worry. “Seriously. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Clint shakes his head. “My shoulder’s a bit sore,” he admits, making a face. “From the shield. It popped out after, but I shoved it back in...anyway, I’ve had worse.”

“Next time, at least tell me when you decide to pick up a super soldier’s vibranium weapon, so I have a visual to send to Laura and the kids,” Natasha teases gently, motioning for him to take off the shirt he’s just put on. Clint winces as he strips and Natasha takes his arm, gently moving his shoulder around.

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that heavy.”

“Brat,” she teases with a sigh. “At least you didn’t end up with Banner faceplanting into your chest.”

“Ugh.” Clint shudders, unable to help himself. “What a pleasant image _that_ is.” He notices Natasha doesn’t respond with any kind of retort but he decides not to wonder about it and lets her continue to work movement back into his shoulder, her hands warm on his still-sore body.

“How’s the rest of the team?”

Natasha’s face takes on a grim look. “Worried. Hurt. Stark is shaken, Cap’s pissed. Banner’s upset that Tony went ahead and did something like this without fully asking since they were working together on whatever Ultron was supposed to be, I guess. Hill’s pissed for the same reason, and Rhodey’s pissed no one told anyone else what they were doing. Thor took off to see if he could find the scepter, which I guess this robot thing stole.”

“All our good avenging down the hole,” Clint assesses dryly. “Some team we are.”

“We’re a team that just defeated an entire army of killer robots without any warning, so I think we’re a pretty good one,” Natasha points out. “But, we’re going to probably have to talk about what to do.”

“Can’t wait for that convo,” he mutters and Natasha groans.

“Like I can?” She shoves his shoulder particularly hard, making him flinch. “Sorry,” she apologizes, kissing him on the cheek. “Look, we’re all still on edge, but just...try to be present, okay? This isn’t the time to get down on yourself or start worrying about things you can’t control. You know how to turn that off and be a SHIELD agent. You’ve done it for years. You need to do that now.”

Clint nods slowly and Natasha shivers again as she runs her hands down his arm, which causes him to frown.

“You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Natasha says a little too quickly. “Really. I barely took a hit.” She breathes out slowly, closing her eyes. “Take some advil for that shoulder, it’ll help with the pain. I’m going to go to the lab. Maybe I’ll see if I can head off some of that inevitable arguing.”

Clint watches her get up and bites down on the words that want to escape from his mouth. He wants to ask her to come back, he wants her to stop, he wants her to take more _time_ \-- he wants a private moment, something that he might be able to have at the farm or even at SHIELD, before their days with the Avengers. But he knows that’s not possible, and he knows that Natasha’s right, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. He has to be in the present. He can’t be selfish, not yet, not until they know exactly what’s going on.

“Wait. Nat.”

She turns around as he gets up painfully, closing the distance between them.

“Take it,” he says quietly, fishing the arrow necklace out of the back pocket of his jeans and pressing it into her palm. She had taken it off for the party in favor of dressing up, but hadn’t put it back on afterwards, and Clint had found it resting in the front pocket of her bag.

Natasha eyes him carefully. “Are you sure?”

Clint nods. In all the chaos, he had forgotten that Natasha hadn’t been wearing it, and had been terrified that it had become a casualty of Ultron’s surprise attack. He had torn apart the room when he got back before showering, and had been relieved to find that it was tangled inside her duffel, the one that still remained only half unpacked out of habit.

“Yeah. I’d just feel better if I knew where it was. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to but...I dunno. Never know when the world’s going to end, right?”

Natasha swallows and reaches for the necklace, brushing their fingers together before she puts it in her pocket. Clint runs a hand down her hair before she turns and walks away, closing the door quietly behind her.

The meeting in the lab goes about as well as he expects, and he spends most of it letting Natasha and the others talk, trying not to dwell on the conversation. He feels Natasha’s eyes on him more than once, though not in a way that would be obvious to anyone else, and attempts to focus on the discussion of Ultron and his whereabouts. It doesn’t help, though, and each part of his mind pulls itself in a different direction -- Cooper at school, who now knew what Clint really did for work. Lila at home, who now thought of Natasha as her real mother, which meant the stakes were so much higher than usual. Laura...Laura going to work and going to school and living her happy, carefree life with her friends and family while danger lurked possibly closer than ever.

_He probably knows more about us than we do about each other._

Clint swallows down a rush of bile at the words and realizes he’s all but missed the second half of the conversation between his teammates, Natasha included. When he looks up again, most of the team is milling around and talking in quiet exchanges.

"Hill's back."

Steve's voice breaks into the lull of discussions, and he immediately strides out of the room. As soon as he leaves, Natasha appears next to Clint, grabbing his hand and motioning for him to follow her out of the room and into the corners of one of the hallways.

“Hey,” she says softly but urgently, shrugging out of her sweatshirt and helping him put it on. “Pull yourself together. You’re slipping, and it’s not like you.”

“I know,” Clint says, rubbing his eyes. “I know, I just...I can’t help it, okay?”

Natasha purses her lips, but her face looks anxious. “Remember Hydra?” she reminds him. “If your information wasn't anywhere then, it means Ultron can’t get to it now, either.”

Clint shudders. “Yeah, but this is different, Nat. Hydra was just in SHIELD’s files, which we were able to control. According to Stark, this dude’s in everything. That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Natasha falls quiet, staring down at the pristine floor of the Tower. “You can probably sneak out for a few days, if you want. Get back to the farm. Make sure everyone is okay.”

“Right,” Clint mutters. “Let’s do that, because the most useless person on the team can leave and no one would be any the wiser.”

“Stop that,” Natasha says sharply, giving him a look. “We need you. _I_ need you.” She pauses. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

“No,” he says immediately. “Who knows when we’ll have to ship out. And it’s bad enough Laura already knows about what happened to me in Sokovia. I don’t need her to worry more, unless there’s evidence of a real, viable threat.” He blows out a breath. “For now, we’ll just pretend Ultron has no idea that daily viewings of _Toy Story_ exist.”

Natasha reaches up and drags her hand down his arm, entwining their hands together. “At least call her,” she encourages. “You were going to, anyway. It’ll make you feel better to hear her voice.”

Clint finds that he can’t argue with that reasoning and nods, glancing up. “Want me to wait until you get a free second?”

Natasha shakes her head. “I’ll call her later, on my own. I want you to talk to her and the kids first. They need their father.”

Clint blinks, suddenly finding that his eyes are wet. “They need their mother, too.”

“And Laura is there,” Natasha says firmly, without hesitation.

“They need their other mother,” Clint says quietly.

Natasha doesn’t respond to that, choosing to avoid his eyes. “I need to help Tony look up files,” she says, her words clipped. “I’ll hold them off from bothering you if you’re quick.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, her lips soft against his skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint mutters as Natasha walks off. He takes a breath and then removes his cell phone from his pocket, punching in the first number on speed dial.

“Hey,” he says when Laura answers the phone, and he tries to make his voice sound less worrisome and more cheerful.

“Clint?” Laura sounds confused and also surprised. “You never call during the middle of the day. What’s wrong?”

Clint debates whether or not to tell her what’s really going on, because the irony of everything is that for once, he actually _can_.

“Nothing,” he lies. “Just wanted to hear your voice. I missed you.”

“Oh.” He can almost see Laura’s lips turn up in a small smile. “Well, I miss you too. How’s your torso?”

“Like they said, I can’t even tell the difference,” he says, his hands automatically brushing against formerly injured skin. “How’s little Barton?”

“Missing you also,” Laura says with a small laugh. “He kicked a lot today.”

Clint tries to smile, wishing he could touch Laura’s stomach, suddenly aching to have something tangible aside from her voice and a phone as a lifeline to his family. “He's gonna be a fighter. Have you figured out how to tell Natasha her namesake decided to grow a different anatomy while we were away?”

Laura laughs. “Not yet,” she admits. “I was planning on waiting until you guys got back from New York to do the honors. Hopefully, she’ll be okay with the alternative.”

“I think Nathaniel is a pretty good compromise,” offers Clint, playing with the zipper his sweatshirt. “A bit long, but there are always nicknames."

“I'm very sorry my great-grandfather had such a long distinguished name that also happened to fit with our baby naming requirements," Laura says pointedly. Clint finds himself smiling.

"Anyway, Natasha’s still hotter.”

"I agree,” Laura responds. “In every way. But there’s not much I can do when the sonogram decides to show me a different gender.” There’s a loud noise in the background and Clint furrows his brow, recognizing his daughter’s telltale tantrum scream. Laura sighs heavily, as if sensing Clint’s reaction.

“Lila lost the stuffed wolf Natasha got her, the one she carries around all the time. She thinks she left it at school, but I won’t be able to go back and check until tomorrow morning. Between you and Nat not being here and how upset she is over this, I’m thinking of just letting her sleep in my bed tonight.”

Clint looks down at his feet, guilt washing over him at knowing there’s nothing he can do to make his daughter feel better and also at knowing that he’s a part of the reason why she’s sad. “Don’t worry about the wolf. Leave the night light on.”

“Clint.” Laura sounds annoyed. “That’s not going to get her to sleep. She’s upset and scared and lonely. You know how five-year-olds are. Are you really trying to give parenting advice from halfway across the country, when I’m right here and can do it better?”

Clint cringes at her tone. “That’s a negative. I answer to you.”

“Yes, you do,” Laura answers. “Anyway, we’ll figure something out. Maybe we can all Facetime later when you guys get a moment. I assume Nat’s going to call me?”

Clint nods before he remembers she can’t see him, knowing by now Laura is used to their separate check-ins when they’re around team members.

“She already promised me that she would.”

“Good,” Laura says. “And make sure she keeps that promise, because Lila will really pitch a fit if she can’t say goodnight to her favorite aunt.”

Clint smiles. “Yes, ma’am.” He’s shaken out of his reverie by sudden footsteps behind him, and turns around to meet Steve’s concerned face.

“Barton.”

“Gotta go,” Clint says quickly, turning off the phone and sliding it into his pocket, hoping Laura will understand. He reminds himself to send a quick text to apologize when no one’s looking, and tries not to feel too terrible about the abrupt ending of the call.

“Who was that?” Steve looks both confused and conflicted, and Clint shrugs.

“Girlfriend,” he replies smoothly, following Steve into the small office. When he enters, he finds Natasha’s eyes long enough to silently confirm he’s okay, then squares his shoulders and gets to work.

 

***

 

It’s unbelievable how quickly things go to hell once Wanda and Pietro get involved.

He does feel bad about the arrow he sticks in Wanda’s head -- he would’ve pulled it out if her punk of a brother hadn’t shoved him to the ground like a sack of potatoes before he had a chance to even try -- but he forgets all about Wanda when he searches for the rest of his suddenly quiet team, finding Thor and Steve dazed and out of it, clearly unable to cater to Stark’s call for back-up.

He throws them a quick glance to make sure they’re not completely hurt, his heart pounding in his chest as he searches for his partner. _Come on, Nat_ , he thinks as he rounds another dark corner, alerted by the telltale blue glow of her tac suit. She’s sitting on a set of steps, practically hunched over in a vulnerable state that terrifies him. He quickens his pace across the room, dropping to his knees in front of her, trying to remind himself that if Steve and Thor seemed to be okay after whatever Wanda had done to them, Natasha had to be okay, too.

Then again, Steve and Thor were pretty much gods -- or at least, they were humans with artificial blood running through parts of their veins. Natasha, for all her smarts and all of her Red Room making, was just _human_.

“Nat.”

He takes her face in both hands, the way he’s used to doing with Laura during intimate moments, and forces her to look at him. Her eyes are unfocused and she’s more or less unresponsive, and it scares the shit out of him because the only time he’s seen Natasha this out of it is during a triggering nightmare where, by the time he got his hands on her, she could easily come out of it.

“Hey, Nat. Tasha. Come on, I need to know you’re okay.”

She doesn’t answer and doesn’t make any show that she’s even heard him, which scares him even more considering he can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’s called her _Tasha_ away from the farm. He looks around, his hands still firm on her body.

 _Fuck it_ , he decides, getting up and slinging her arm around his shoulders, helping her stand. He needs to get her out of here, and he knows Stark is too wrapped up with whatever’s happening with Banner to help. He could come back for Steve and Thor after he was sure she was okay, if they didn’t manage to somehow recover enough first.

Natasha was, had always been, his first priority when it came to being in the field.

It’s slow-going given how out of it she is -- her body sags limply against his own and her head keeps rolling onto his shoulder and he wonders, with a half-smile that seems out of place, how many times he’s made her carry him like this while wanting to simultaneously kill him or kiss him. Clint eventually manages to get her out of the freighter and across the grass, dragging her onto the quinjet. He can vaguely hear the roars of Bruce’s angry cries in the distance, but ignores them as he props her up against one of the walls, taking her head in his hands again.

“Tasha, come on. Come back to me.” He keeps one hand steady on her face and reaches into the hidden pocket on the front of her suit, pulling out the arrow necklace he knows she’s stored there. Clint presses the thin metal into her hand, closing her fingers over it, and as if given a breath of life Natasha sucks in a quiet gasp, shuddering into him.

“Clint.”

“Yeah.” He watches as her eyes focus blearily, her fist tightening around the necklace chain with a deadly hold. “You know who I am? Where you are?” He tries to remember what Laura would do for him when he lost it around the house after Loki, the way Natasha had taught her to talk him down with simple questions that would allow his brain to associate his surroundings with reality rather than imagination.

Natasha nods slowly, drawing in ragged breaths of air, and he drags a hand down her face until it’s resting over her heart.

“Clint.”

“Breathe, Nat.” He holds her gaze, giving her something to hold onto, the barest form of an anchor he can manage. “I got you. You’re safe. I’m here.”

“Clint. I...” She lets her head fall onto his shoulder and he realizes too late she’s crying, shaking in his hold. He immediately backs sits back on his heels, letting her curl into him.

“Hey. Tasha, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, okay?” He strokes her hair, murmuring the words over and over again as much as he can, feeling like he’s comforting one of his children. It’s far from a private moment, knowing their teammates could walk in on them any second, but he tries to preserve it and hold onto it anyway, because he knows it’s what they both need.

“I want to go home,” she whispers against his suit, and Clint feels his own breath hitch. He knows what she’s asking without _really_ asking -- home, Laura and the farm, Laura’s gentle touch and her cuddles and her kisses. Home, warm baked bread and comfortable quilts and her own room, Lila and Cooper’s tight hugs, Clint and Laura and Natasha snuggling on the couch with hot tea and quiet. Part of him is acutely frightened, because as much as Natasha had shown up at the farm over the years with the same sentiment on her tongue, he’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s heard her so openly request it.

Clint weighs the options in his mind, considering the fact that if he does this, it means opening up a part of himself -- a part of her, also, a part of both of them that they would never be able to get back. It would be Natasha’s last real secret, blown wide open; it would be his own hard-earned secret, blown wide open. The team wouldn’t and couldn’t know about their real relationship, aside from the fact Clint would have to admit he had a family. But even still, he knows the farm is as sacred to Natasha as it is to him.

“Nat, I...I don’t know if --”

“Take me home,” Natasha says again, her voice soft and needy, and suddenly it’s all the confirmation Clint needs to make his decision.

“Okay, Tash.” He kisses her, steeling himself for the conversation he knows he’ll need to address with his teammates. “Let’s go see Laura and the kids. We’re going home.”

He holds her until she can pull herself together enough to stand and sit on her own. It’s not too hard to take control once the rest of the team finally finds their way back to the quinjet: Steve and Thor stumbling in slowly but aware, Tony coming back what feels like hours later, interrupting the uncomfortable silence by helping a clearly shaken and scared Bruce up the landing pad. Clint doesn’t ask what happened, because he knows if Tony called in Veronica, it had to be a level of bad that even _he_ can't imagine. He announces he’s piloting without alerting them to where they’re going, and Tony gets on the phone with Hill, and no one really argues, too shaken by the day's turn of events.

It’s strange to willingly land the quinjet underneath the soft canopy of trees right outside the farm, next to the big oak Clint had watched Cooper climb on his own just a week ago while asking for a treehouse. It’s stranger, still, to walk up the familiar dirt-covered path that’s so often used for grocery runs or playdates or coffee runs, and then stand with Laura and pretend that Natasha is nothing more than the aunt Lila announces her as. He’s not sure whether Laura will be angry at him or understand why he made the decision, but when they finally get a moment to themselves, as they’re walking upstairs and leaving everyone to their own devices, he manages to shoot her a look -- _I did it for her_ \-- and Laura answers with a silent, sad reply.

_I know you did. Thank you._

“Coop’s asking for you,” Laura says softly after he comes out of the bathroom, having washed up sufficiently. “I was thinking you could take him outside and do a little work on the porch while you’re here?”

 _Normalcy._ He can almost see the request in her eyes, and nods.

“Yeah.” He wipes his hands on his jeans, trying to remember he’s not really _home_ so much as this is a temporary reprieve, and he has to treat it as such. The door to Cooper’s room is closed, but Clint opens it easily, stepping inside.

“Hey, you get a chance meet my friends yet?”

Cooper nods, and Clint immediately picks up on the fact something’s off. He closes the door carefully to give them privacy.

“Wanna come downstairs and help me with the porch? I have a few hours before I have to go back to work. And I’m sure I can get you Captain America’s autograph. You’ll be the coolest kid in school.”

Cooper shakes his head and looks up with eyes that are filled with tears. Clint’s at his side instantly, sitting down on the bed.

“Hey, kiddo. What’s wrong?”

Cooper blinks fast to hide the water in his eyes. “Kids...kids at school say you’re gonna die.”

Clint’s breath catches in his throat and he forces his lungs to work properly. “Well,” he says slowly. “Who’s saying that? You know that daddy’s going to be okay, like he always is.” He reaches over, pulling his son into his lap -- no small feat, he knows, considering Cooper’s age, but given he was still on the smaller side when it came to his growth and tinier than most twelve-year-olds, Clint’s able to get him onto his legs easily.

“Where is this coming from?” Clint asks after a moment, because he’s never known his son to be so clingy or worried. Cooper hugs him tighter, and Clint hugs him back.

“Your friends look like they’ve been hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt. And kids at school say the Avengers are all gonna die. And you’re an Avenger, so you’re gonna die.”

Clint lets out a long breath. “Well, your dad -- who is a _real_ Avenger, by the way -- is telling you that these kids don’t know what they’re talking about. I’ve always been okay, and I’ll continue to be okay. And I know it looks kind of scary to have a bunch of people like this in your house, especially with all those weapons, but it’s just like what you’ve seen me do on television. I’ll be safe. Besides, I thought you wanted to be like me and Nat.”

Cooper shakes his head. “I wanna be cool and be a hero. I don’t wanna die.”

“Hey, _listen_ to me.” Clint moves Cooper off his lap, steadying him on the bed. He puts two hands on his shoulders. “ _No one_ is going to die. Not me, not Nat, not any of my friends. Okay? I’m making you a promise that I’m coming home, and I always keep my promises. Right?”

Cooper grimaces. “You promise you’ll come back if things get too scary?”

Clint smiles sadly. “This is my job, kiddo. I can’t just stop when things get scary and run away. You remember what I told you when you broke your leg? About not quitting just because something’s hard? About how we don’t give up?”

“Yeah,” Cooper says quietly and Clint kisses his forehead.

“What I _can_ promise is that while I’m gone, mommy and Lila are going to take good care of you. And then as soon as I’m done with this job, Nat and I will be home, and we’ll finally go get you that new bike I said I’d help you pick out for your birthday. Is that a plan?”

“Yeah,” Cooper repeats, sounding a little more tentative.

“Good,” Clint says, getting up. “Now, come on. You wanna help me with the porch? If you go get the tools, I’ll meet you downstairs and I can teach you how to measure properly. Like a real Avenger. I know you’ve been working on some designs of your own, right?”

Cooper smiles in a way that Clint knows means he’s feeling at least little better, and Clint shoves him playfully until he slides off the bed, walking slowly out of the room. He runs a hand down his face, following his son and meeting Natasha in the hallway. Lila, who is wearing a bright pink tutu over her leggings, is cuddled in both of Natasha’s arms.

“How long are you staying, daddy?”

Clint smiles, leaning over to kiss his daughter on the head. “Leaving later tonight, princess.” He runs a finger over her chin. “But I’ll be home soon. Did you get to talk with Natasha?”

“We had a very good talk, didn’t we?” Natasha asks, bouncing the little girl. Lila nods.

“I showed Tasha my recital dance! And we talked about school and dancing and swimming and dolls,” Lila says, kissing Natasha on her cheek. “And Tasha said she would help me with my _Frozen_ party for school.”

“Good.” Clint ruffles her hair. “Speaking of helping, your brother’s helping me with the porch. You wanna help, too?”

“I wanna read my new book,” Lila says loftily, wiggling out of Natasha’s grip until she’s back on her feet. “I don’t like porches, remember?”

Natasha laughs, bending down. “You like porches, Lila baby. We sit on them and read together all the time. You don’t like _building_ porches. Not like your daddy, right?”

Lila scrunches up her nose, a hint of Clint shadowing her features, and she shakes her head. “I like you!”

“I like you, too,” says Natasha. “Take off your dance clothes and go get your book so we can read, and I’ll come outside with daddy in a bit.”

Lila walks back into her bedroom and when Natasha straightens up, Clint notices she’s holding a piece of paper in her hand. The ivory colored square of construction paper is adorned with large block letters distinctive of Lila’s messy five-year-old handwriting, the chicken scrawl that Natasha likes to tease is better than his own.

“What’s that?” Clint asks curiously, and Natasha clutches the paper more tightly as Lila exits her room with her book, sans tutu, running down the stairs.

“It’s...nothing. Lila made it in school and said she wanted me to have it if I went away again.”

Clint inches his hand forward and Natasha hesitates but lets him pull it away, until he can read it clearly.

**MY NAME IS LILA BARTON. THAT’S MY NAME AND I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIVE ON A FARM WITH MOMMY AND DADDY AND MY FAVORITE MOMMY TASHA AND MY BROTHER COOPER. MOMMY’S TUMMY IS VERY BIG BECAUSE SHE HAS ANOTHER BABY INSIDE HER SO I AM GOING TO GET A BABY SOON. MY HOUSE HAS A PORCH AND A GARDEN. I SLEEP IN A BIG BED AND I LOVE TO DRAW WITH THE COLORS BLUE AND PURPEL BEST. WHEN I GROW UP I REALY WANT TO BE A DANCER. MY FAVORITE FOOD IS A TOMATOE. THE FOOD I LIKE THE LEAST IS BROCCOLI. I DO NOT WANT TO GET MARRIED TO A BOY BECAUSE BOYS ARE DUM. I WANT TO LIVE ON A FARM FOREVER AND PLAY WITH ANIMALS. MY DREAM PET IS A HORSEY. I THINK EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE AN ANIMAL AND EAT COOKIES BECUZ THE WORLD WOULD BE A BETTER PLACE.**

Clint’s eyes take in the words, his gaze lingering on _favorite mommy Tasha_ before he looks up.

“Nat, I --”

Natasha’s shoulders sag in a way that’s expressive of more than just tiredness. “Don’t, Clint. Please. Not now.”

Clint closes his mouth on the rest of the words, because while he’d normally have no problem pushing her, something about the way she’s holding herself alerts him to the fact that it’s not the right time.

“Okay,” he agrees, handing her back the paper, which she takes carefully. “Where’s Laura?”

“Here,” Laura says quietly, her voice soft and vulnerable, and Clint and Natasha both turn to see her standing behind them, holding her arms to her chest. “Your friends are...they’re outside. I set them up as best I could. I don’t know if they’ll want dinner. But I should probably make them something if they’re going to stay.” She turns around and walks back into the bedroom and Clint and Natasha exchange a long glance before following.

“Laura.”

She’s standing at the window, in the same spot she had stood with Clint earlier, but this time, without anyone next to her, she looks alone and fragile. Clint’s heart beats faster in his chest. “Laura --”

“You start projects all the time,” Laura interrupts, turning around. “The porch...the couch...the oven. Sometimes you leave them unfinished, because you know you’ll finish it when you get home, and it’s a promise that you will. Because if you leave something unfinished then it means you have to come back.” She stops, swallowing hard, looking at Clint and then at Natasha. “You started Nathaniel,” she says brokenly when neither of them speak. “Don’t...leave him unfinished.”

“Laura…” Clint trails off, not knowing what to say because it’s a complete turnaround from their conversation earlier when she’d been confident and seemingly secure in her words, despite the obvious worry that he could detect underneath her demeanor.

 _I can tell the difference_.

“We always follow through with our promises,” Natasha says, putting Lila’s paper on the bed so that her hands are free to cup Laura’s belly, the same way she had done when they first came home. She lets her hands run up Laura’s body, over her ribs and her breasts and up her neck, until she can cup her cheeks. “ _Always_.” She kisses Laura while Clint watches, hesitant to ruin what he knows is a moment that both of them need, that they weren’t able to have before now. When Natasha breaks the kiss, however, he can’t stop himself from walking forward and wrapping his arms around both of them in a standing hug.

Laura breathes in and out slowly against their bodies. “I don’t care about anyone else,” she whispers. “But I need you alive. I need both of you alive. So please, can you...just promise you’ll come home.”

Natasha kisses her again and Clint catches his partner’s eyes which are shining brightly.

“We’re going to come home, Laur,” he says with a nod. “I promise, hell or high water, we’re going to come home.”

 

***

 

Clint has little recollection of what happens after Pietro dies.

He remembers returning to the boat, the gratitude on the young mother’s face when he hands over her shaking, safe child -- the child that reminds him so much of his own son, even though he’s become so adept at not letting his personal life bleed into his work life. He remembers the ringing in his ears from the blasts of the machine gun, the dirt and blood on his arms, he remembers waving off helpful hands and he remembers lying down on the boat before finally succumbing to unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, unaware at how much time has passed other than the fact that he’s no longer lying on a rocking boat in the sky, the first thing he sees is Natasha’s face -- or at least, the top of her forehead, as the rest of her features are obscured in a thick book that he recognizes as the mystery novel Laura let her borrow a few months ago. He tries to move his arm to get her attention, frowning when he notices the IV drip attached to his wrist, and she looks up as he shifts in bed.

“I’m fine,” he says when he finally speaks, his voice croaking out of him. He makes a face at the sound of its disuse, noticing the oxygen mask hanging around his neck for the first time.

“Yes, that’s what you told the people on the boat when they asked about you,” Natasha says, looking bored. “And then you passed out from exhaustion and dehydration, not to mention a few sprains and a healthy amount of oxygen deprivation.”

“I’ve had worse,” he grumbles, though part of him doesn’t want to argue. Physically, his injuries are on the milder end of what he’s used to when it comes to post-battle scars, but everything hurts and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he really _does_ feel like shit. “How long have I been out, anyway?”

Natasha moves to the bed, sitting down near his knee. “At least five hours. Like I said. Exhaustion. And we weren’t exactly on the ground.”

“Yeah, well. What else did you expect from a fucking battle that took place on a _flying city_?” Clint asks bitterly. “Anyway, you seem to have recovered alright.”

Natasha looks uncomfortable, and Clint notices she doesn’t answer the question. “You should call Laura,” she says quietly. “She’s worried. I called her after we got back to tell her about your condition and let her know we were okay, but you know she won’t be okay until she hears from you.”

Clint closes his eyes and sees Pietro’s body, riddled with bullets all over again, and nods.

“Clint.”

He opens his eyes and sighs. “Are you going to do what you did five years ago and tell me it’s not my fault? That I didn’t know what I was dealing with? That Ultron was monsters and magic and nothing I was ever trained for? Because I already got that memo.”

Natasha’s sad face looks even more sad as he spits out the words. She gets up, making sure the door is closed before she sits on the bed, leaning over to place a hand against his cheek.

“Pietro made the decision for himself. You didn’t ask for that. You didn’t expect it. You can’t live with someone’s sacrifice.”

She’s right, Clint realizes, but that’s the thing -- he _is_ living with it, and as much as he wants to believe Natasha, he’s tired and he hurts. And Wanda’s brother is dead and Clint is alive, and his family is safe but he has no idea what the cost any of that has been.

“Say it,” he says after a moment, and Natasha looks down, avoiding his eyes. When she still doesn’t talk, Clint groans loudly.

“Come on, Nat. Just say it.”

“ _Fine_. Fuck you for sacrificing yourself for a kid, when you almost died yourself,” Natasha says, her voice unsteady. She squeezes the part of his arm still sore from his shoulder dislocation and he fights an urge to react. “Fuck you for just thinking you could _die_. I need you alive, Clint! Your wife needs you alive! We made her a promise that we would come home, and this is the _second_ time you’ve almost died while Laura’s been pregnant with your child. And I’m done with it. I’m done with being terrified people I love will just leave me without anywhere to go, and maybe that makes me selfish but it’s been a long fucking day and I don’t want to worry anymore, Clint. I don’t.”

As she talks, Clint lets his eyes rest on the arrow necklace that’s back in place against her throat, a silent declaration she hasn’t bothered to say or announce. He reaches out, letting the fingers of one hand settle below her collarbone.

“I don’t want make you worry anymore,” he says slowly. “I’m done, Nat.”

Natasha looks up, her mouth settling into a wordless question. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean you had to be done.”

“No,” Clint says, looking around the room, wincing at the pull of the IV and suddenly feeling tired and older than he knows he really is. He finds himself remembering their conversation from three years ago, the one about how he wasn’t twenty-five anymore and there was no use denying it. “No, I’m done. I should’ve been done after SHIELD fell, but I wasn’t ready, and you were still fighting, and I needed you and I needed to protect you. But you’re right. And Laura was right. I’m not supposed to keep doing this to myself or to the people I care about. I’m coming home so I can finish Nathaniel and then…” He takes a deep breath, letting it out before he says the words. “That’s it. Last project.”

Natasha swallows hard and Clint turns his head, fingers of one hand tapping at the covers. “Last project?” Clint repeats and Natasha blinks fast against her tears.

“The city was flying,” she says softly.

Clint rolls his head towards her. “What?”

“The city was flying,” Natasha repeats, clenching her hands. “I thought I was going to die.” She looks up, vulnerability settling into her eyes. “And then I thought...I thought, well, if I die, at least I’ll die beside my best friend.”

Clint watches as her limbs shake and her breathing quickens, as everything about the front she’s carrying drops, the same way it did at the farm when she no longer had to pretend for the sake of everyone else that she was okay.

“Tasha…”

“I know we talked about the fact that when we were done, it would be together,” she continues. “For family’s sake. But I can’t come home yet. I need to take care of some things here. You should go home…Laura and the kids need you.”

“I need you, too,” Clint says, hating how pathetic his voice sounds. “Laura needs you...they’re not even kids anymore. Nat, you can’t just drop something like this on me and then practically tell me you’re not okay, and then _leave_.”

“I can. It’s what I do, right?” Natasha smiles sadly. “It’s how I protect the people that I love. You know that by now.” She gets up, fiddling with his IV drip casually before fluffing his pillow. Clint barely pays attention, too lost in trying to compose another argument to her response, until her hands fall away and he feels his limbs sag heavily.

“Did you -- did you fucking _drug_ me?” Clint asks furiously, trying to fight against the heavy pull of his lids. Natasha’s lips tremble slightly and she leans over, kissing him gently, stroking his hair.

“I love you, Clint. Tell Laura I love her, too. Go home.”

Twenty-four hours and multiple hard-won prescriptions later, Clint’s argued himself out of bed rest despite still feeling exhausted and has booked the first available flight out to Iowa, not bothering to call Laura beforehand. After making sure the kids know he’s okay, Laura helps him upstairs, where he manages a quick rundown of Natasha’s situation and Sokovia before he all but collapses onto the mattress fully clothed, letting his tiredness consume him while Laura pulls a thick quilt over his shoulders and strokes his hair.

“How are you feeling?” Laura asks when he finally makes his way downstairs, hours after the kids have gone to bed. Clint shrugs, sliding into the kitchen chair across from where she’s doing schoolwork, and puts his head in his hands.

“Did I tell you that Nat fucking _drugged_ me before she left?”

“No, but she gave me a heads up that she was going to,” Laura says with a small smile. “And I didn’t argue, because I know you. How are you feeling, otherwise?” She looks at him pointedly and he sighs.

“Tired. Sore. Took some of those meds, but I could really use some coffee.”

“On the table,” Laura says softly, nodding in his direction. Clint notices she’s biting her bottom lip, as if she wants to stop herself from asking a question she doesn’t know how to say out loud.

“She decided to stay for a bit,” Clint says after taking a long sip of coffee, feeling slightly more awake and alert as the caffeine starts to run through his veins. “Nat. Doesn’t mean --”

“I know,” Laura says softly. “It’s fine. I’m just...I’m happy you’re home.”

It’s not fine, and Clint knows that as well as she does, but right now, he’s too tired to talk anything else out. He takes another long drink and places his palm over hers.

“I am, too.”

The days afterwards are filled with a slow build of returning to a domestic life filled with songs and homework and turkey pot pie, days marred by superficial sibling fights and flat tires rather than fighting or blood or sparring matches. He attempts to slide back into the life he knows and wants, but he constantly feels like he’s on edge, an emotion not unlike what he felt when he first came back after Loki and was trying to pretend, for the sake of his kids, that everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t.

What worked four years ago with a two-year-old and a nine-year-old, however, Clint soon realizes doesn’t quite work with a five-year-old and a twelve-year-old.

“Daddy’s sad. Why is daddy sad?” Lila asks one day during breakfast, while Clint is shoving toast into his mouth. Laura almost spills her tea, but manages to recover with little issue.

“He’s just having a really hard time at work, and he’s missing his friends,” Laura says gently, looking at Clint. Lila’s face shifts into a look of pure misery.

“Is he missing his friends like the way I miss Auntie Nat?”

Laura smiles sadly. “Yeah,” she says, reaching over to stroke her hair. “Like the way you miss Auntie Nat.”

Lila swings her legs against the chair a few times, looking down at her food. Cooper looks up at his parents.

“Why isn’t she home with us, like she usually is after you guys come back from work?” Cooper asks suspiciously.

“Because she’s gotta do some work for a little bit on her own,” Clint responds, trying to keep his voice from giving his real emotions away. “I’m here, so she’s gotta work a little bit harder for me. But I promise once she’s done, she’ll come home. Besides, she’s got a baby to see, right?”

Cooper looks dejected, but nods, and Clint nudges him.

"Hey, how about later, we go into town and check out that new field they just opened? Plenty of places to throw your baseball around."

"Sure, okay," Cooper says listlessly and Clint fights a sigh as Lila looks up at her father hopefully.

"Can I come too and ride in the car with you?"

Clint smiles, nodding. "Yeah, Lila baby. You can ride in the car." He doesn't look at Laura, who he knows is probably biting her tongue on how much she hates the fact that Lila had taken to the old truck he'd acquired a few years ago and subsequently fixed up.

After breakfast and much protesting, Clint forces Laura to sit on the couch while he cleans up the kitchen. Laura doesn’t say anything but he suspects she knows as much as he does that the need to busy himself is less out of concern for her pregnancy and more about trying to keep himself occupied.

“Maybe I need to go to therapy for real,” he says when he finally finishes doing dishes and wiping down a table laden with crumbs from Cooper and Lila’s copious amounts of toast. He curls up against Laura, resting his head on her stomach, and Laura strokes his hair gently while Clint tries to listen to the sound of his children playing outside on the lawn, a stark reminder of what he almost didn’t come home to.

“Maybe you should go to New York.”

Clint shifts against her, lifting his head so he can sit up.

“What?”

Laura’s face is expressionless. “Wanda’s there, right? I know what you’re doing to yourself, Clint. And if you can’t be here one hundred percent with your heart invested in this family because you’re still feeling guilty over what happened with her brother, then maybe you need to go talk to her.”

Clint hesitates, because he’s only told Laura the bare bones of what had happened, but he knows he hasn’t been able to hide his guilt or the way Pietro’s death has been bothering him. “I don’t know.”

“Clint. I love you,” Laura says softly. “But I need you here with me. I _need_ you to be present because we’re going to have this baby soon, and I don’t know where Natasha...I can’t do it alone anymore. I need my husband, especially after everything that’s just happened. So if you need to go figure out a way to clear your mind, I want you to go do it.”

Clint swallows. “But...I --”

“Go to New York,” Laura urges. “Take her to get coffee or something. Besides, when has going for coffee ever backfired?”

“Don’t ask,” Clint says, before sighing loudly, finding Laura’s eyes. “Honestly, I’d rather invite her to the farm, but I know that’s not an option.”

Laura shrugs. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” she admits. “Even if it would make things more crowded for awhile. But you need to know why you’re talking to her, and why you want to see her. Is it to apologize for everything that happened? To make her feel better about it? Or to make _yourself_ feel better?”

“Both?” Clint asks helplessly and Laura gives him another look, kissing him on the cheek.

“Go to New York. Just for a little bit. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

“You sure?” he asks, eyeing her stomach. Laura rolls her eyes.

“Yes. You just left me for days to fight robots. I think I can handle at least forty-eight hours by myself. I’m quite sure he won’t make an appearance before then.”

“You never know,” Clint grumbles. “He might be the one kid in this family who actually _is_ rebellious.”

“You say that like our other two _aren’t_ ,” Laura says with a groan as Cooper shrieks outside, his loud voice carrying through the windows. 

Twenty-four hours later, Clint’s in a cab to Des Moines International Airport and on one of the few direct flights to New York, hailing a cab to Manhattan where he checks into a small hostel right outside of Times Square.

“I’m in New York,” he tells Natasha when he calls her. “I just wanted to let you know. I’m meeting Wanda in the city. She’s on her way in now.”

“Okay,” Natasha says, and he notices she doesn’t even sound surprised. “About Pietro?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “I think it’ll help me if I talk to her, you know? And maybe it’ll help her if she can talk to me. I mean, I dunno --”

“No, no. I think that would be good.” Natasha breathes quietly into the phone. “How’s Laura?”

“Almost due.” Clint puts the phone on speaker and takes off his shirt, trading it for a button down flannel. He wants to ask when she’s coming home, but he realizes he doesn’t know how, because there’s something going on that he’s not sure he can figure out, and he doesn’t want to make things more strained by pushing at a situation he doesn’t understand. “How’s training?”

“ _Almost_ not as bad as a few weeks ago.” Natasha sighs. “They’re getting better, though. It’s slow-going. Pray for no huge cities to drop from the sky in the next few weeks, and we might be able to get somewhere.”

“Well, if you need to take a break, I’m only here for a day or so,” Clint says casually. “And I can definitely finagle you a plane ticket home. Kids are asking for you. Pretty sure Lila’s going to have my head on a platter if I don’t tell her when you’re coming back.”

There’s a long spell of silence before Natasha speaks again. “I told you, I can’t come home yet. But I will. I promise. I just...I need to work some things out.”

“Yeah,” Clint mutters, unable to keep the bite and bitterness out of his voice. “I get it. Always needing to work things out, away from the people you love.”

“Clint --”

“It’s fine, Natasha. Just call Laura and make sure Lila knows you’re still coming to her bunny rabbit play, okay? She’s the lead, and she really expects to see you there.” He hangs up before she can respond and only feels slightly bad about how he’s ended the conversation, because whether it’s whatever she’s hung up on with Banner or what happened in Sokovia or something else, he knows it’s not fair to treat her like she _isn’t_ going through shit.

 _But we matter,_ he thinks angrily, pushing a hand through his hair as he stares up at the decrepit walls of the hostel, the peeling paint that somehow reminds him of his bedroom on the farm. _We matter, and our relationship matters, and you made a promise. And you don’t get to go back on that promise of being a mother to Lila and a mother to Cooper and a mother to the child named after you. You don’t get to go back on that promise of being someone who is always present in our lives._

He manages to push the angry thoughts from his mind long enough to call Laura and let her know he’s arrived safely, and then he gathers his things and wanders outside, down the streets he remembers so well from Loki and from afterwards. The city has cleaned up nicely, all things considered -- he can see the newly constructed and shiny facade of Stark Tower sticking out just above other tall office buildings -- but he knows there are still ghosts everywhere, least of all in the walls of the few places that were rebuilt following the attacks of New York.

He arrives at the bar slightly earlier than he intends to, passing the time with a mindless cell phone game Lila had schooled him in a few weeks ago, until a slender brunette approaches him tentatively. Clint smiles when he realizes that even with Natasha’s borrowed red jacket that’s become a staple of her wardrobe, she looks different than she had a few weeks ago. Sokovia had taken a toll on all of them, but Wanda, like Clint, now looks rested and fresh, color back in her cheeks and hair softly smoothed out in dark waves. Underneath her jacket, she’s dressed in a simple black t-shirt with a long silver necklace that dips down her front, and her equally dark jeans and sneakers are offset by the many silver bangles and rings that line her arms and fingers.

“It is good to see you,” Wanda says with a small smile and Clint reaches his arms out for a hug. Wanda wraps her arms around him slowly and Clint squeezes her a little tighter, if nothing else because he realizes he doesn’t know if he ever offered any words of sympathy or any comfort after Sokovia. He had passed out on the rescue boat, woken up in the med bay with Natasha, and he had seen Wanda briefly before he left for the farm, but the moment had been far from personal.

“You, too.” He wants to ask the stupid question about how she’s holding up, but knows it’s not the right time. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“It is good to take a break every once in awhile,” she says, nodding towards the bar. “Shall we go in?”

“After you,” Clint agrees, opening the door. Once they get inside, he motions for Wanda to follow him to a booth adjacent to the bar stools. Wanda has barely situated herself before two menus appear in front of them, and she raises an eyebrow.

“You know this place well,” Wanda says a little suspiciously as she takes a menu. Clint laughs.

“Only in location. It’s changed a lot since the last time I was here. When I started as a SHIELD agent, my trainer -- Agent May -- she took me here for a drink. I was having trouble with Natasha, and she quickly realized that drinking was probably going to be a good way to get me to talk and drown my sorrows.”

“Is that what you are doing with me?” Wanda asks slowly. “Getting me to talk and drown my sorrows?”

“I’m not trying to get you drunk so you can forget your feelings,” Clint says. “I’ve done that, and it’s not fun, and it’s not smart. But I do want to talk. About what happened in Sokovia.”

Wanda’s fingers clench together just as the waitress returns with a questioning look and a notepad, and Clint orders a neat whiskey for himself while Wanda quietly asks for a margarita on the rocks.

“You do not need to apologize,” Wanda says once the waitress walks away. “If that’s why you came. I know guilt, Clint. I feel it every day.”

“I do too,” Clint says. “Believe me. I’ve felt guilt every day since I started this damn job.” He looks down at the table. “The difference is, usually, that guilt and sacrifice comes down to either me or Natasha. And we understand why we do the things that we do for each other. Your brother…”

“I cannot be mad at him for what he did,” Wanda says as the waitress returns with their drinks. She immediately reaches for hers, trying it out with a small nod of approval. “I would never be mad at him for putting someone he cared about first. Even if he seemed not to like you for awhile. But I am mad at him because he left me alone, and I am mad at Ultron for everything he put me through. For the fact that we wouldn’t be here in the first place, if it was not for his destruction.”

“And if we weren’t here thanks to his destruction, I wouldn’t know you,” Clint points out. “And you wouldn’t be training to be an Avenger right now. We can’t control life, but sometimes, that’s a good thing. I learned that with Natasha." He shrugs, slumping back in the booth. “Look, I would have never thought that fifteen years ago, Laura would walk into the bar I was working at and then I would fall in love. I never thought I’d live on a farm, have almost three kids, work at SHIELD, have a partner, or spend my days doing things that a high school dropout would never have the opportunity to do. And I bet you never thought you’d be out of Sokovia, am I right?”

Wanda looks sad, and Clint instantly knows his words have hit home. “I thought I was going to die when the bomb hit us,” she says slowly. “And then I did not die, and neither did Pietro. I thought we were going to die in that cell, when we were being experimented on, and then we did not die. I thought a lot of things that did not end up happening.” She takes another long drink. “I don’t want another war,” she says after a moment and Clint leans forward, looking at her quizzically.

“What makes you think there’s going to be another war?”

“I hear things,” says Wanda, looking down at the table. “Stark talks. Captain Rogers talks. They think I do not listen or care, but sometimes, actions speak louder than words.”

Something in Wanda’s tone pokes at the fear bubbling up in his stomach, but he pushes it away and stirs his whiskey with a small straw. “There’s not gonna be another war,” he says finally, trying to laugh through his uneasiness. “The only war is gonna be at my farm, over something like who gets the last Oreo in the package. Which will probably be my son, because he’ll never let anyone stand in the way of dessert.”

“Natasha mentioned you...your children,” Wanda says a little shyly, as if she’s offering up information she’s not sure she’s allowed to know. Clint’s heart hurts and he reaches into his pocket almost immediately, punching in a few buttons on his phone and scrolling quickly until he finds what he’s looking for.

“That’s Cooper,” he says, showing her a recent school photo. “He’s twelve -- god, I don’t know when he got to be twelve, it’s really fuckin’ scary -- he likes soccer and baseball, but he loves to read. He can read books that are meant for high schoolers. It’s really incredible. Anyway, that’s Lila.” He flips to another photo from a recent birthday, showing Lila sandwiched between Clint and Laura’s arms with a gap-toothed smile that stretches over her face. “She’s five. Dunno how know how that happened, either.” He taps the screen again as more photos appear: one of Cooper and Lila reading with Laura, one of Lila the day she lost her first tooth, and one of Cooper holding up a small fish from when Laura’s dad had taken his grandson to the lake house.

“You have beautiful children,” Wanda says softly and Clint can’t help himself from laughing out loud. Wanda gives him a curious but slightly hurt look.

“Sorry,” Clint apologizes. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I swear. It’s just…” He shoves a hand across his mouth, stifling another round of chuckles. “I realized that I did this exact same thing once. I sat in this bar and showed Natasha pictures of Cooper when he was a baby, after I told her about Laura and my family for the first time. And now I’m doing the same thing, and it feels like everything has changed. Though I guess nothing has, except for the fact I’m going to have to introduce everyone to another kid soon.” He flips through a few more pictures until he gets to one of Laura smiling for the camera, hands on her pregnant belly. Wanda lets her hand ghost over the photo, her eyes filling with tears.

“Did you --”

“No. I never told Pietro about my family,” Clint says, cutting her off before she can ask the question. “He didn’t know, and he didn’t know that Laura was pregnant.” He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to consider naming him after your brother. He’s already got a first name, full disclosure, but he could use a middle one.”

Wanda looks at Clint with wide eyes, her mouth poised in a surprised _o_. “You..you would name your son after my brother?”

“Yes,” Clint says reaching across the table and putting his hand over hers. “I would, and I will. If you let me. If you’re okay with it. And if it helps sweeten the deal, he’d be the first Barton kid to have an actual middle name, which makes him even more special.”

Wanda swallows and then nods, busying herself with taking a sip of her margarita. “Natasha...she also says that you put your family first,” she says quietly. That is why you’re not with us right now. But if things do happen...you would still put them first? After all these years? Your family?”

“I would _always_ choose my family,” he says firmly and without hesitation. “And I would always put them first. I told Natasha that once, and now I’m telling you.”

“But that is different,” Wanda responds uncertainly. “Natasha is your friend. She knows your family. I am only your teammate...I attempted to hurt you. I don’t know what that makes me.”

“Family,” Clint confirms, knowing it’s true. There’s still a long way to go between him and Wanda in terms of being the type of friend that Clint would sit down with and explain the complicated relationships of his home life to. But he’s connected now -- _they’re_ connected -- and he knows he’ll never be able to look at Wanda without feeling like he’s responsible for her. “And if it makes you feel better, Natasha attempted to hurt me, too, before she became who she was.”

Wanda smiles tentatively, and Clint smiles back.

“Look, I...when I started at SHIELD, I thought I was meant to be alone,” he says. “In every sense. I thought I was going to work alone, live alone, fight alone...I didn’t want a partner. But Nat is the best thing that's ever happened to me. It’s the same thing with my marriage. I never set out to find a wife, and I never thought I'd get married at all, but Laura’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I didn’t realize until I got in too deep how lucky I was to find people who trusted me and who had my back. I want to give you that, Wanda. I owe you that much. I can’t bring back your brother, but I can pass on his legacy to my son, and I can offer you my friendship and the promise that I’ll always look out for you. Like family. And that includes a free pass to the farm, whenever you want.”

Wanda looks up in surprise. “Your farm? Are you…”

“Am I sure?” Clint laughs and takes another drink. “Hell, it’s the least I can do for what your brother did. I gave Natasha a place to go once when she needed somewhere to feel at home, and now I’m giving you a place to go when you need to feel like you have a home. Our door is always open. The kids might even think you’re fun, if you let them play with your jewelry.”

Wanda reaches up to touch her necklace, her fingers tightening around the chain the same way Clint is so used to seeing from Natasha when she touches the arrow she always wears. “It would be nice to know I have people to trust,” she says slowly. “And a place to go.” She smiles again. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Clint says, wanting to say so much more. _Thank you for not hating me. Thank you for knowing what your brother did and what it means. Thank you for understanding that I needed to come home. Why I needed to come home._

Wanda reaches across the table and takes his hand, and suddenly, Clint knows he’s said everything he’s needed to say without saying it at all.

 

***

 

Laura goes into labor in late May, while Clint is grabbing cereal off the shelf in the supermarket and Cooper and Lila are at school. Fortunately for Laura, two kids have made cramping and water breaking something that’s almost normal at this point. And so while there are quiet expressions of joy the moment Laura realizes what’s happening, Clint and Laura are able to finish their shopping peacefully and check out at the register, before stopping at the house to get Laura’s overnight bag and heading to the hospital.

“Can you call her?” Laura asks after she hangs up with her mother, having relayed the information and also having confirmed that Elizabeth can pick the kids up from school. She winces as another cramp rolls through her body, but she’s honestly not sure if the pain is because of her labor, or because she knows they’re missing another body in the car -- one that she was so sure would be there with them.

“I can try,” Clint says, slinging the bluetooth wire over his ear. Laura waits as the phone rings and rings and rings on Natasha’s personal cell phone, the number that only Clint and Laura and Cooper and Lila have, until it clicks quietly.

“Auntie Nat’s cell phone. Leave a message after the beep. Lila, stop stealing your brother’s snacks. Cooper, I know you’re sneaking candy again and I’m going to tell on you if you don’t stop.”

“ _Again_?” Laura asks in a pained tone and Clint shrugs.

“She likes to change the message all the time for the kids,” Clint mutters as the phone beeps. “Hey, uh. It’s me. Just letting you know Laura’s gone into labor. We’re headed to the hospital now. Gimme a call, okay? Love you.” He hangs up with a long sigh and Laura tries to fight back disappointment.

“She’ll be there,” Clint reassures her. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Laura sets her lips in a thin line and tries to focus on the pain in her body. “I’m not worried. I’m fine, Clint.”

He gives her a look but reaches over and squeezes her hand, and then takes out a CD and sticks it in the dashboard, turning up the volume. Laura instantly recognizes the calming voice of James Taylor.

_I feel fine anytime she’s around now, almost all the time._

“This is assault.”

“Our wedding day song? _Assault_? Laura Nicole Foster Barton, you wound me on the eve of our child’s birth.”

Laura knows exactly what he’s doing -- trying to take her mind off both her labor and the hurt that she feels at Natasha not being present -- but she lets him, because taking care of her is what he’s always been good at. Laura checks in at labor and delivery and eventually gets settled in a hospital bed in her designated room, while Clint makes himself comfortable in one of the chairs with a book.

“This is it, then?” Laura asks when Dr. Klein comes in to say hello and prep her for eventual delivery. “The last Foster baby?”

Dr. Klein smiles. “You may be able to pull me out of retirement if you decide to have a fourth kid in the next three years,” she teases with a wink. “But if you don’t, I’ll still be happy. The fact that I helped bring so many of your children into this world has been more than enough.” She reaches down to hug Laura warmly, before hugging Clint and leaving the room. Laura breathes through a series of additional contractions and eventually gets up to walk, moving her IV drip around the floor as Clint watches, curled up in her bed.

“Your mom’s got the kids,” he confirms after his phone beeps a few times. “She’ll stay at the house with them until Nate’s born, and then bring them over to say hi after. Is that okay? I know they could come sooner, but I just didn’t want you to feel too overwhelmed, you know?”

Laura nods, sitting back down on the bed and Clint immediately shifts into action, getting up and helping her ease back under the covers. “Yeah,” she says softly as Clint presses a kiss to her forehead. “I...you’re staying, right?”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Clint looks appalled and then gestures towards the door. “Come on, they’re gonna have to kick me out of here if they want me to leave.”

Laura smiles tightly as Clint leans down, placing his hand on Laura’s round stomach, running his fingers over the thin hospital gown.

“Kind of strange, you know? Being here, waiting for our baby, just the two of us? Feels like Cooper all over again.”

“Except you’re not running in secretly from SHIELD looking like you just lost a bar fight,” Laura teases, trying to keep her voice light despite the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her, because she knows what he means. Lila’s birth had been a crowded affair, with Clint and Natasha and her parents and even Cooper. Cooper’s birth had been just her and Clint and her parents, but it’s a memory that sometimes feels like a dream, because she almost can’t remember a time when Natasha _wasn’t_ by their side for an important milestone. Part of her is bone-shakingly angry at Natasha’s absence, at the fact that she had committed to their family and now, when they needed her the most, she was leaving them in the dust. Clint reaches for her hand.

“Hey. Laura.”

Laura looks at him with tired eyes, feeling crushed by the weight of the world even though she knows this should be her happiest moment. “She’s not coming,” Laura says quietly, because she knows even if she keeps hoping, the feeling in her gut is too strong to be ignored. The fact that Clint’s grim face and sad eyes are in agreement doesn’t make her feel better.

“Well, she better fucking pick up the phone when he’s born, then. Because I’ll fly to New York and beat the crap out of her myself if she’s _that_ dumb.” He squeezes Laura’s hand and she tries to laugh, focusing on another strong contraction, and Clint tells a multitude of bad jokes to pass the time until Dr. Klein comes in to prepare Laura for her delivery. Once Laura’s cervix is fully dilated an hour or so later, the birthing team arrives and Clint steps off to the side, continuing to hold Laura’s hand tightly.

“I’d tell you what to do, but I think after two kids, you’re pretty used to it,” Dr. Klein teases while Laura pushes hard, every inch of her body painfully stretching in ways that she’s forgotten she could experience. She closes her eyes and wishes for Natasha, trying to remember how everything had been when Lila was born, the way Natasha had clutched Laura’s hand and whispered how much she loved her in her ear while Laura pushed through the pain and the tears and Clint kissed her over and over again.

“One more strong push,” Dr. Klein urges as she uses all of her strength to bear down on her ovaries. There’s a searing amount of pressure followed by relief as her body relaxes, no longer tense and tight, and then Laura hears a short scream and a loud cry. Laura watches through misty eyes as Dr. Klein introduces Nathaniel Barton to the world, six pounds and six ounces of a crying red infant. In the din of the delivery aftermath, Clint’s cell phone vibrates on the table.

“Her timing is fucking impeccable,” Clint mutters before he answers with, “jesus christ, let me cut the umbilical cord first.”

“Any chance it came out a girl?” Natasha asks dryly when Clint finally gets the phone back, putting her on speaker as the nurse swaddles Nathaniel and hands him over to Laura. Laura can’t help the relieved sigh and laugh-cry that escapes from her mouth upon hearing Natasha’s voice.

“Say hi to your namesake,” she says, placing the baby against her breast for skin-to-skin contact. She tries unsuccessfully not to cry again as Clint switches the phone to FaceTime, allowing Natasha to appear on the screen. Laura notices that her hair is wavier than usual and that she’s dressed casually, the way she might be dressed if she was at the farm.

“I need to see if he has my nose,” Natasha declares as Clint moves the phone around. “This is important.”

 _What’s important is you being here_ , _and if you were, you’d have a chance to see the answer to your question in person_ , Laura thinks. She’s too tired to be angry anymore, though, and she’s grateful that she at least gets to share the birth this way. It meant that Natasha wasn’t totally avoiding them for reasons she didn’t understand.

“Aw, crap,” Natasha mutters as she peers closer, her face filling out the frame. “Probably not my nose. But definitely my eyes. I was worried we’d get stuck with your husband’s resting face again.”

“Come on,” Clint whines. “You _like_ my face.”

“When I’m kissing it,” Natasha says offhandedly. “Laura, agree with me.”

“Laura’s too tired to agree with you,” she answers with a small smile. “Also, she thinks you’re a brat.” It feels normal and right to joke with Natasha as if she’s here with them, and Clint takes the phone back as Laura continues to hold her newest child, kissing him softly on the cheek, letting her lips rest against his warm, smooth skin. Clint eventually hangs up with Natasha and calls Laura’s mom, and roughly two hours later, after Laura has cleaned herself up and feels a little more alert, Elizabeth is knocking on the door to her room with Bob, ushering in an over-excited Cooper and Lila.

“I wanna see the baby!” Lila exclaims loudly the moment they walk inside, while Clint shushes her gently by stroking her hair.

“If you want to see the baby, you have to use your inside voice, okay?”

Lila nods vigorously and then looks at Laura curiously, giggling. “Your belly’s still really big! Is there another baby in there?”

Laura fights back a laugh, though Clint and Laura’s parents aren’t quite as successful at holding in their amusement.

“There’s no other baby right now,” Laura says with a smile. “Just the one that was born. If you want to hold him, come sit on the bed with me and Coop and they’ll bring him in soon.”

Lila climbs excitedly onto the covers, and Laura notices that whether it’s her mother’s doing or Clint’s, the kids have been dressed in matching outfits, no doubt for picture taking purposes. _Mom_ , Clint mouths when Laura meets his eyes, answering her question. “But I helped choose the clothing,” he adds, leaning over to whisper in Laura’s ear as the door opens again and a nurse enters, bringing in Nathaniel.

“Mommy's right, the baby’s very tiny!” Lila looks up and smiles as Laura takes him in her arms. “Was I this tiny, too?”

“Yes,” says Clint. “You were both very tiny. But Cooper was actually smaller than you, if you can believe that.”

“No _way_ ,” Lila says with big eyes as Clint takes Nathaniel from Laura’s arms, motioning for both of his children to get closer on the bed.

“I was not that small!” Cooper protests indignantly and Clint smirks.

“Oh, yes you were. There’s picture proof, kiddo.”

Elizabeth instructs Cooper how to comfortably hold the baby and once he’s secured in his arms, Lila reaches over the runs her fingers over the soft tufts of light hair. She leans down and kisses her brother on the forehead while Nathaniel squirms lightly.

“I’m gonna call him Tasha-Nate,” Lila decides. “Cause he’s named for Aunt Nat. Right?”

Laura catches Clint’s eyes and he shrugs slowly, a stealth movement Laura thinks he might use with Natasha if they had to communicate without speaking.

“He is,” Laura acknowledges, not bothering to look at her parents. “You remember what I told you about your names, right?”

“Yes,” Lila says with a nod. “Coop is Cooper because of daddy and I was named for grammy Lila because L is for mommy. And Tasha-Nate is named for mommy Tasha!”

“This kid,” Clint mutters as Laura stifles a laugh, watching Cooper hold his brother more tightly, half-wondering if her parents will catch Lila's words or attribute it to the rationalized thoughts of a five-year-old. There aren't any other questions asked, though, and Elizabeth and Bob manage to get both children to sit still long enough to pose for a few photos.

“When can I take him home and play with him?” Cooper asks, looking hopefully at his dad as Laura's mother attempts to drag the kids away. Lila gives Nathaniel ten prompt kisses on the head.

“Your new brother is not a toy,” Clint answers tiredly, rubbing a hand against his eyes. “But you can help us around the house. Do you want to do special chores? Maybe you can help learn how to change him and help grandma and grandpa and mommy when we need it.”

“And Nat?” Cooper asks excitedly. Laura and Clint exchange another glance.

“Of course,” Clint says firmly, and Laura feels her stomach flutter. It’s reassuring, at least, to know that Clint feels the same way she does -- even though Natasha wasn’t here, they were both always going to ensure their children knew she was family, for better or for worse. Cooper smiles, swinging Clint’s hand as he leads him out of the room, chattering excitedly about the list of things he's absolutely going to _need_ to teach his baby brother. Clint returns alone a few moments later.

“I’m gonna head home,” he says, stroking her hair. “You’re good here, right?”

Laura nods. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. They’ll probably release me tomorrow, anyway.” The truth is, she doesn’t want to be alone, not really, not without Natasha or Clint, but she’s also hoping the exhausted part of her will take over and allow her to actually rest. “Go home. You need the sleep. And I don’t think the kids are going to sleep anytime soon because they’re too wound up.”

“Great,” he mutters, kissing her one last time. “You need anything, you call me, okay? I’m not that far. And I’ll be back early tomorrow morning. It’s been less than half an hour and I already miss seeing him.”

“He’ll probably have slept an hour by the time you come back,” Laura grumbles with a small smile and Clint grins.

“Love you, Laur.”

She swallows down a wave of tears, wondering when she became so emotionally vulnerable. “Love you, too.”

Clint closes the door, leaving Laura in silence and she closes her eyes. She knows from experience that sleep will be futile either way with nurses and doctors coming in to check on her, but even still, she’s exhausted enough that she thinks she might be able to tune things out, at least for a little while. Feeling the tell-tale heaviness of her eyelids, she’s relieved to find out that she’s right.

She’s not sure what causes her to wake up a few hours later, but part of it is the soft brush of lips against her cheek. Laura struggles to open her eyes, confused and dazed, and realizes the head of hair in front of her doesn’t belong to one of the few night nurses or even Clint, but to someone else.

“Natasha?”

“Hey.” Natasha leans over on the bed, smiling. “I figured you’d be up, even though it’s way past your bedtime.”

Laura tries to focus, her body worn and vulnerable. “Nat, you’re...you’re here? You came back?”

Natasha nods, putting a hand against Laura’s cheek. “Yes. I’m here, Laura. I came back.”

Laura can’t help the choked sob that escapes her throat and she grabs for Natasha’s shoulders, crying openly, unable to help herself as Natasha rubs her back, kissing her hair.

“Shhh, Laura. I love you, okay? I’m here.”

Laura takes a shuddering breath and Natasha helps wipe her eyes with a tissue.

“How did you get in?”

“You’re really me asking that question, after all these years?” Natasha flashes a hospital ID and opens her coat to reveal a pair of dark scrubs. Laura tries to smile, but it feels like it’s a struggle to make her expression genuine, and she can tell Natasha knows immediately that she’s more upset than she’s letting on.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Natasha says quietly. “I am. I just couldn’t --”

“You couldn’t,” Laura interrupts curtly. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Natasha nods, and Laura notices she looks both sad and apprehensive. She puts her hand on Laura’s leg. “Laura, I…”

“Why didn’t you come?” Laura asks suddenly, her voice breaking. “It was you. It was _Nate_. I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Natasha swallows. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m...it was shitty. It was a shitty thing to do, and I regret it, and I should have been here. I don’t know why I wasn’t. When Clint called, I realized...I’ve never felt worse in my life, Laura. Not even when I left you and the ring. Not even when I missed Cooper’s first home run in Little League a few years ago.”

Laura lets Natasha talk, staying silent because she doesn’t know what to say, and finds herself thinking of all the years she’s spent soothing Natasha’s fears, helping her forgive herself.

“You promised,” Laura says finally. “And you weren’t there for him. Or for us.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “I...I know you’re angry with me because you think I can’t commit to this relationship or that I don’t want it --”

“No,” Laura says, cutting her off. “No, Natasha, I _know_ you can commit to this, even if you’ve had trouble proving that. But I also know who I fell in love with, and that’s why I’m angry. I’m not angry with you because you can’t stay. I’m _angry_ with you because I love you too much.”

There’s a long silence, and when Laura looks at Natasha again she realizes she’s crying, warm tears dripping down her face. Laura holds out her arms and Natasha immediately falls into them. Laura suddenly feels a surge of guilt and love, an onslaught of emotions that overwhelm her because Natasha may have messed up and Natasha may have made mistakes, but now that she _was_ here, Laura can’t imagine her being anywhere else but by her side.

“The nursery's close by,” Laura says when Natasha has finally stopped crying. “They won’t bring him in for awhile, but if you want to see him, you can probably sneak over.”

Natasha lifts her tear-stained face and shakes her head. “Only if you come with me,” she says as Laura laughs quietly.

“I feel like if I get out of bed, I’m going to fall over. Plus, what if someone comes in and finds me walking around?”

“Well.” Natasha shrugs, getting up and taking off her coat, exposing her full set of scrubs. “I’m a nurse, remember?”

Laura laughs again while Natasha finagles an unused wheelchair from another patient’s room and helps Laura get out of bed. She keeps one hand on Laura’s shoulder, steering competently with the other as they work their way down the hall. Laura directs her to where the nursery is and they stop in front of the glass.

“There,” Laura says softly after a few moments of searching, pointing to the cradle labeled _Barton, Nathaniel_. Natasha places her hand against the glass, her forehead crumpling against the smooth wall.

“The fat one?”

“We prefer to use the word plump,” Laura says, trying to sound stern despite her smile. Natasha looks at Laura and then shrugs.

“Fat,” she repeats, squinting. “Also, he definitely has my eyes. Thank god. I was worried for a moment. I mean, I know I had no actual hand in making him but I’m pretty sure at this point, I know your body so well I can make a baby with you by osmosis.”

Laura smiles again, trying to force herself to focus, because part of her is so tired she just wants to sleep forever. The other part of her wants to watch this and savor this for as long as she can -- Natasha seeing her child, her baby, the baby that was not only named for her but that was supposed to be hers in every way even if she didn’t birth it or create it.

“He’s beautiful,” Natasha says quietly, her face still pressed to the glass as if she’s stuck there. “He’s perfect, Laura.”

Laura smiles, swallowing down tears. “I know,” she says softly as Natasha turns around, guilt shadowing her face.

Will you tell Clint?” Natasha asks, her voice trembling. “That I came?”

“Yes,” Laura agrees. “If you want. When…” She trails off, scared to say the words out loud, because she knows that she can’t expect Natasha to stay. “When will you be back?”

Natasha’s face confirms Laura’s suspicions. “I don’t know,” she admits hesitantly. “There are things that happened in Sokovia. Things I still need to work out.”

“Work them out here,” Laura says, a plea that she knows will fall on deaf ears. Natasha smiles sadly.

“I wish I could, Laura, but it’s not that easy.”

Laura looks down at her hands and feels a wave of helplessness spread through her insides. “Then stay with me for the night,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Please?”

Natasha looks back down the hallway and bites down on her lip. “Laura...if they find me here like that, I’ll get in trouble. It’s not like we have SHIELD or Nick or anyone to bail us out of things anymore.”

“If you get in trouble, then I’ll take the blame,” Laura promises. “And they can kick me out of the hospital and I’ll never have another kid here again, but please, Nat...I just...I need you. I want to hold you.”

The look on Natasha’s face tells Laura she’s still uncertain but also that she’s not going to argue. She grabs the handles of Laura’s wheelchair and rolls her back to her room and when they return, Natasha helps Laura get back into bed. She slips in next to her, stroking her hair and wrapping her arms around Laura’s stomach, pressing soft kisses against her ear. Laura falls asleep with Natasha’s fingers resting gently on the still-significant swell of her post-pregnancy belly and when she wakes up sometime later, the room is lighter, the space next to her is cold, and there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow that Laura notices is adorned with Natasha’s neat, spy-like handwriting.

 _I love you. I promise this time I’ll be back_ , it reads. Laura rolls over, clutching the note between her fingers, and realizes there’s a smaller card sitting on her bedside table with the same neat cursive.

_For little Natasha._

Laura props herself up as much as she can, grabbing for the paper, and her breath catches in her throat when she sees the arrow necklace that’s taped inside. Laura’s eyes fill with tears as she pulls the chain loose with her fingers, fastening it around her own neck without hesitation.

 _I love you too,_  she thinks as she lets her hand rest on the cool metal, fingers skirting the slender curve of the arrow, closing her eyes.

 

***

 

After a healthy amount of cuddling following Natasha’s return, Clint grudgingly decides he should go watch his kids and make more coffee, leaving Laura and Natasha alone and tangled in the bed. Laura waits until Clint’s closed the door before she rests her head on Natasha’s shoulder, while Natasha dips her hand underneath Laura’s shirt, running her fingers over her breasts.

“Told you I’d get to see your post-pregnancy breasts one day,” she breathes and Laura smiles lazily.

“Well, Nate seems to find them just as attractive as you do,” she teases, nipping at Natasha’s ear. There's pressure on her throat and she realizes Natasha's letting her hand rest on the arrow necklace, which Laura hasn't taken off since they came home from the hospital.

"I'm sorry," Laura apologizes quietly. "I should give it back, now that you're here, but --"

"No," Natasha says, flattening her hand over Laura's sternum. "Keep it. At least for right now. I meant it, when I left. It was my promise that I'd come back. And I did."

"You did." Laura's eyes water uncontrollably and she kisses Natasha again, running fingers through her hair. “I should get up and help Clint. You wanna stay here for a bit? You can get dressed and take your time...I know the kids will run you ragged once they realize you’re here.”

Natasha nods into the pillow. “If it’s okay. I could use some time to myself.”

“Of course.” Laura gets out of bed, almost hating that she has to leave the coziness of Natasha’s embrace. At this point, however, she feels like she’d give Natasha anything she wanted as long as she promised to stay with them. “Come down when you’re ready. Be prepared to be tackled.”

“By your kids, or by your husband?” Natasha asks, her voice muffled by the covers, and Laura turns around and smiles slyly as she pulls on her robe.

“That’s an answer for later tonight.” She closes the door quietly and walks downstairs, feeling fueled by both the strong smell of fresh-brewed coffee and the fact that Natasha is really here, _finally_ here, and hopefully permanently. She expects to find Clint in the kitchen and finds him sitting on the couch instead, rocking a half-asleep Nathaniel in his arms. Laura smiles at the sight, realizing how much she’s missed watching her husband hold his newborn children with all the careful care and love of someone who has just witnessed a miracle.

“I can take him for a bit,” Laura offers as she approaches, and Clint glances up with a wistful face.

“I did promise Lila a pancake brunch,” he says. “But I kind of just want to sit here with him forever.”

“Believe me, when he wakes up crying five hours in a row, you’ll have more than enough time to sit with him.” She knows what Clint means, though, despite the fact that he hasn’t said the words out loud. Clint had been lucky enough to spend a long stretch of time with Cooper after his birth, but going back and forth to SHIELD had caused him to miss the full experience of his son’s infancy. Work had escalated by the time Lila was born and he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with her after her birth, something that Laura knows he still feels guilty about, even though Natasha had taken up a bulk of the parenting in his stead which had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to their family.

But now, there were no more projects. Clint was home, and he could finally be a father, and he could be there for all the things he never had a chance to fully experience in the past, including things like spending all of his time with his new son without interruptions from work or even from Natasha.

Laura reaches for the baby and Clint settles Nathaniel against her arms. “Might be hungry anyway,” he says, gesturing to the tell-tale cry that’s starting to escape from Nathaniel’s throat. Laura loosens her robe, allowing him to latch happily onto her breast, and follows her husband into the kitchen where Clint starts to prepare and mix pancake batter. He pours a cup of coffee for Laura, who manages to get herself settled at the table before Lila races through the porch door, all the morning energy that hasn’t been extinguished from running around outside releasing itself in a rush of words and flail.

“Daddy said Auntie Nat came last night!”

Clint smiles, abandoning his cooking, reaching down to pick up his daughter. “She did,” Clint says, bringing her to the counter so she can plop down on top, and Laura resists the urge to chastise him about his actions. “But she’s kind of tired, so we’re going to let her rest a little before she comes downstairs, okay?”

Lila nods. “Okay." She pauses, looking down at the bowl Clint is holding. "I told you to make pancakes and you did!”

“I did,” Clint repeats. “Do you want to help me make pancakes, or go back outside and play?”

Lila scrunches up her nose and thinks hard, swinging her legs against the drawers. “I wanna make you and Tasha coffee.”

Clint laughs, lifting Lila off the counter so that she can run to the pantry and grab a few Keurig cups. When she walks back into the kitchen, Clint lifts her up again, allowing her to put one of the pods in the lever. She hits the silver button with a grin and a giggle.

“Coffee time, coffee time!” Lila skips to the cupboard and takes two mugs from the lowest shelf, bringing them back to Clint. “That’s for Nat,” she informs Clint seriously, holding out the one that says MOM’S FAVORITE in cursive writing with a heart and butterfly on it. Laura can’t stop herself from smiling when she notices.

“Hang on.” Clint leans his elbows on the countertop while Lila twists hair around her finger. “Daddy gets the one that has a horse drawing on it? Not even the one that says BEST DAD?”

“ _Daddy_ , I love you but you’re not Tasha,” Lila says in exasperation as Clint switches out the mugs, putting Natasha’s designated cup next to the Keurig. Lila runs over to where Laura is nursing Nathaniel, stopping in front of her mom and holding out her arms.

“Can I give Tasha-Nate kisses?”

“Yes, Lila baby,” Laura says as she gently guides Nate away from her breast. “Let me burp him first.”

Lila waits expectantly while Laura pats Nate gently on the back, and when the baby is sufficiently satisfied, she shifts him back to her arms so Lila can plant dozens of kisses on his forehead.

“Hey, Lila.” Clint looks up and Laura catches the glint in his eye. “Aunt Nat is upstairs in our bedroom. Wanna go give her a special wake-up?”

Lila grins wickedly and runs out of the kitchen, bounding through the living room, grabbing her brother in a bear hug on the way.

“ _Ugh,_ _cooties_ ,” Cooper yells, pushing her away as Lila runs upstairs. Once they’re alone again, Laura gives Clint a look.

“No, I do not feel bad about what I just did,” he says conversationally and Laura sighs, rocking her newborn son back and forth.

“You’re a good boy,” she murmurs to Nathaniel, whose eyes are now scrunched closed in a restless sleep. She looks up as Clint goes back to making breakfast, pouring pancake batter into a frying pan, and stands carefully before walking over.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Clint shakes his head, turning on the stove. “I can’t blame her. It came out of the blue.”

“Did it?” Laura asks quietly, and Clint shrugs, reaching for his coffee.

“I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t even know there was a... _thing_ going on, not until you said something.” He sighs, leaning against the counter. “But it doesn’t invalidate how she feels.”

“You always were a little daft,” Laura says gently, scratching her fingers against the back of his neck with her free hand. “But no, it doesn’t. I just wish she would tell us.”

“Tell you what?”

Both adults whirl around at the sound of Natasha’s voice, and coffee splashes over the side of Clint’s mug.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath as Natasha strides forward, now fully dressed in jeans and Laura’s long-sleeved Iowa State shirt.

“Are you _that_ out of it that you’re off your guard?” Natasha asks skeptically. “Normally, you’re better than that.”

“I have an infant,” he says crossly and Natasha snorts.

“I would’ve bought that excuse the first two times,” she scoffs. “You don’t get a pass on number three.”

“ _And_ I’m working on no sleep,” he whines, taking another sip of coffee. “Speaking of sleep, how was yours?”

Natasha shifts her gaze, staring at the open windows over the sink. “Fine,” she says, not bothering to elaborate as she takes an empty cup from the cupboard. Clint puts his hand on her arm and directs her to the countertop instead.

“Your barista made you a cup already,” he says pointedly. Natasha puts the cup back and Laura notices the softened expression that appears over Natasha’s face when she realizes what he means. “ _And_ she picked the mug out herself.”

“My barista also just woke me up by jumping on the bed and bouncing on my stomach three times,” Natasha says, taking her mug and fingering the _mom_ part of the inscription written on the ceramic. She takes a long sip of coffee and glares at Clint, who shrugs.

“Like I told Laura, I don’t feel bad about it.”

Natasha makes a face. “Either way, I guess I should go thank her for my morning jolt. All sixteen of them.” Laura watches her walk out of the kitchen, trying to ignore the pain shooting through her heart.

“Give it time,” says Clint after a moment. “I know Nat. So do you. She doesn’t come around easily, even to us.”

Laura nods sadly. “I guess I hoped at one point that would change,” she says slowly. “After the bed sharing and the secrets…”

“And the threesomes?” Clint asks wryly, watching a pancake start to brown. “I know, Laur. She’ll talk when she’s ready. For now…” He wipes his hands on his pants and nods towards her arms. “Let’s worry about this little guy, okay?” He catches her eye, and Laura knows she can’t hide the hurt residing there.

“Hey,” he continues gently. “She’ll be okay. She’s Nat, but she’s _our_ Nat, remember?”

Laura swallows tightly. “She missed Nathaniel’s birth,” she says quietly, hating that she even needs to say the words out loud. “That wouldn’t have happened five years ago. That wouldn’t have even happened a year ago. She would’ve made every effort to be there. Something’s changed, Clint.”

Clint closes his eyes and nods grimly. “I know.”

Nathaniel starts to cry and Laura leaves Clint alone to finish breakfast, taking Nate upstairs so she can get him changed. When she comes back down, carrying the baby in his sling and inhaling the smell of freshly baked pancakes with a hint of banana, she’s surprised to find Natasha sitting at the table with a face full of heavy blush and bright red lipstick, a look similar to what Laura thinks she might see in a circus.

“What happened to you?” Laura can vaguely hear Cooper and Lila playing one of their games in the sun room and Natasha shrugs, taking a pancake from the platter on the table.

“Your daughter. Apparently, in addition to hair braiding, she also has a fledgling career in cosmetics.” She looks up at Clint. “Must get it from you.”

“Excuse me, my makeup skills are _great_ ,” Clint defends. “I did Laura’s makeup for our wedding. And I do Lila’s all the time for dance recitals.”

“And does she look like this?”

“Well, kind of,” Clint admits. “But she’s _supposed_ to. Anyway you look cute.” He gives her a kiss and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“I’m glad you still think I’m _cute_ when I look like a clown. Also, I’m starving.”

“And there are pancakes,” Clint says, joining her at the table and helping himself to a generous portion as Laura sits down with her coffee, settling into the kitchen chair.

“How’s Wanda?” Clint asks after a few moments as he shoves a syrup covered bite of pancake into his mouth. Natasha carefully cuts through her own stack.

“Okay. She seems to be doing better.” Natasha looks up with a small smile. “She talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Clint looks interested and Natasha nods.

“Yes. I think she looks up to you, after everything that happened in Sokovia. She’s constantly asking if you’re going to come to see her progress soon.”

“Well you can tell her, like I did a few weeks ago, that I’m a little busy,” Clint says, gesturing towards Laura and Nate. “Also, I’m pretty much retired at this point.”

“Stop with that retired bullshit already,” Natasha says with a groan, playfully hitting his arm. Laura continues to drink her coffee while Nate sleeps soundly in his sling, snoring quietly. She watches the conversation in silence, trying to imagine that this is normal, trying not to think about how this is how things _should_ have been after Nathaniel's birth and even before: Natasha sleeping in their bed and living at the house, Natasha sharing clothes and playing with children who considered her their own flesh and blood, Natasha eating breakfast and drinking coffee and being wholly present the way she had promised she would be and the way she had wanted to be for so long. She lets her mind wander while Clint and Natasha continue to talk until Natasha reaches out and puts her hand on her leg, two sticky fingers pressing themselves to her jeans.

“Can I hold him? Please?”

Laura’s heart swells and she nods as Natasha gets up and leans over to reach into the sling.

“Oh, you _are_ a good boy,” she murmurs as she takes him in her arms, letting him rest on her shoulder. Laura can’t help but see Natasha and Lila so many years ago, only this time, Natasha’s body is relaxed and familiar as she holds the baby, cradling him to her chest.

“You’re just like mommy probably was, right? Like your sister? Not like daddy or your brother.”

“It might behoove you to know that Laura was an incredibly temperamental baby,” Clint says indignantly and Natasha makes a face at him.

“You just used an SAT word on me,” she informs him, cuddling Nathaniel gently. “ _And_ I’m pretty sure you used the dad voice you use on Cooper when you’re arguing with him. We’re done here.”

Laura laughs as Natasha walks out of the room, holding Nate firmly in her arms, disappearing into the living room.

“Mommy!”

Lila races back into the room while Clint is trying to clear the table twenty minutes later, and while Laura is moving leftover pancakes off the serving plate and into tupperware. “Aunt Nat said we could all go shopping later, me an’ her and Nate, an’ I get to help pick out baby clothes and get ice cream!”

Lila’s face is earnest and gleeful, a happiness that Laura doesn’t think she’s seen her daughter display in a long time, and Clint throws a wet dishrag on the table as Lila runs out of the room again.

“Seems like Nat’s got the fort held down pretty well,” he says after a moment, looking around. “I’m gonna go run some errands while I have the time. You okay here?”

Laura nods, turning to kiss him. She closes her eyes, taking in the moment, Clint by her side and Natasha somewhere nearby, the sound of her children’s voices and the smell of still-fresh coffee and leftover banana pancakes, and Laura lets the sounds and smells of home fill the empty spaces in her heart.

 

***

 

Laura has a sneaking suspicion that getting the kids to bed later is going to be harder than usual, Nathaniel notwithstanding, and while she’s correct she’s not entirely upset about it. Clint ribs her about giving special treatment to the kids because of Natasha’s presence, and Laura knows that he’s right -- under normal circumstances, Laura would never allow Lila to have such a long bath or allow Cooper to read so many chapters in his book. But she also knows he understands, because even if he’ll never say it out loud, he feels the same way about having Natasha back in the house. It wasn’t just about having extra hands, or about Laura being able to nurse Nate and spend uninterrupted time with her husband knowing her other kids weren’t going to run wild and kill each other. It was about the home feeling like a _real_ home for the first time in forever, thanks to the fact it was finally full with the presence of someone who was supposed to complete the equation.

“Can I sleep with Aunt Nat tonight? Please, please?” Lila asks as Natasha carries her upstairs with Laura on her heels. Natasha turns to look at Laura, who bites her lip and runs her hands over Lila’s tangled hair.

“Not tonight, love,” Natasha answers as Lila’s face falls. “Aunt Nat has some grown-up stuff to take care of, and you need your rest so we can go to the fair tomorrow, like we talked about.”

“But I missed you,” Lila says miserably, resting her head against Natasha’s chest. Natasha kisses her softly.

“I know, Lila baby. I missed you too. But I’m not going anywhere. So how about tomorrow night, you’ll come into my room and we’ll have a sleepover in my bed? Okay? Just you and me. No boys allowed.”

“No boys allowed!” Lila agrees, the promise seeming to placate her enough so that she can brush her teeth and get changed. After she’s wiggled into her worn Disney princess nightgown, Natasha hands Lila her stuffed wolf, now five years worn and grungy with one eye missing. Lila hugs it tightly as she snuggles underneath the covers.

“I remember when you first bought that,” Laura says after they’ve left the room, leaving the door open for when Clint returned from his walk with Cooper. “The day after I came home from the hospital. You said you were running errands and you didn’t tell me that you bought it, but you gave it to her when she went to bed.”

Natasha smiles slowly. “I remembered you had talked about wanting to make her a pillow of Clint’s old shirts after Budapest,” she says softly. “Because you wanted her to have something of his when he went away, just in case. I wanted her to have something from me, too. Even if it was a silly, little thing.”

“It’s not silly and it’s not little,” Laura says. “And given that she can’t go anywhere without it, I’d say it’s become one of her most prized possessions.” She kisses Natasha as the steps in the hallway creak, indicating Cooper and Clint’s return. There’s a soft knock on the door, a distinct three raps in quick succession, the code they had worked out after Lila’s unexpected discovery last year to alert whoever was in the room that there was a child with them, in case appropriate precautions needed to be taken.

“He wants to show Nat his rocks,” Clint explains when he opens the door. Cooper stands by Clint’s legs, holding out a basket of multi-colored stones.

“Nat, check _this_ one out. It’s called dolostone, we learned about it in school...it looks like chalk!”

Natasha bends down as Cooper plops onto the floor of the bedroom. Laura only winces a little bit when Cooper dumps most of his rocks onto the hardwood because as much as she’s tried to keep things neat over the years, the farm is and has always been a place where love and comfort showed itself not by pristine furniture and shining floors but by clutter and imperfections.

“I feel like I’m an attraction,” Natasha jokes after Clint has practically dragged Cooper off the floor and gotten him to bed with the promise of taking another walk in the morning. Her voice is light, but Laura sees straight through her facade.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Clint says quietly as he closes the door and locks it for good measure. “They missed you.”

“Not that long,” Natasha tries to defend and Laura gives Clint a look as she makes herself comfortable on the bed.

“Long enough,” Laura answers softly. Natasha’s face drops just enough for Laura to know there’s something else Natasha’s not saying, because she had seen the same expression during dinner, when Laura and Clint got off on a tangent about Nate’s latest baby food mishap, and she had seen it as they were cleaning up, when Cooper and Lila got into a long discussion about what to name the horse they’ve decided they’re going to convince their parents to let them own one day.

“What’s wrong?”

Natasha sits down next to Laura and doesn’t speak for a long time, long enough for Laura to wonder if she’ll have to pull it out of her, as tired as she is.

“It’s just…” Natasha looks down at her hands. “Everyone has someone. I know I have you, but I don’t feel like you belong to me sometimes. Not when I look at this house and see your pictures and your history.”

“There are pictures of you, too,” Laura points out gently. “You have history here, too. You have your own space. You’re just as much a part of this home as we are.”

Natasha shakes her head. “But not in that way. This is a home you built from the beginning. I don’t have those roots to put down. For me, there aren’t any family photos, or marriage photos...I wasn’t there for that. I wish I was.”

“Nat...is that what this is about? That we’re not married?” Laura feels confused, glancing at Clint. “If that’s all you want, we’d gladly give you a wedding. We’d give you whatever you wanted. I just…” She trails off, remembering the disaster that had followed after trying to give Natasha her ring a few years ago. “I just didn’t think we needed to.”

“And I didn’t think I needed to,” Natasha says, her eyes glistening. “Not until I lost myself last year. I spent so long trying to uphold the ideals of an organization that I realized I didn’t even want to represent...and then I found out that the place I dedicated my life to defending decided to throw me to the curb the same way the Red Room did. The person I considered my father, the person who I’d trusted for years, he didn’t even want me. He couldn’t even trust me with his secrets.” She swallows. “I don’t belong in SHIELD. I don’t know if I ever did. I don’t belong to the Avengers as some good soldier. I don’t even have my own apartment in New York, just Clint’s place and a room at headquarters, and those don't exist anymore. I don’t belong in Russia. I know I belong here, but --”

“But not in the same way we do,” Laura finishes, suddenly understanding. Natasha nods.

“I love you both,” she continues quietly. “More than anything. But you’ll always have something I don’t.”

Clint puts his mouth in a thin line. “Marriages mean nothing, Nat. The same way labels mean nothing. I mean, fuck, do you think I care about whether we're poly or straight or married or...or whatever? I love Laura, I value my marriage to her, but I'm just as much married to you! I’d give my life for you, the same way I’d give my life for her and my kids. A piece of paper and a legal status and a label doesn’t change that.”

“And I appreciate you telling me that,” Natasha says a little more firmly. “As much as I hate hearing you say things like you'd die for me, or for any of us. But it’s not the marriage thing, Clint. Not really. It’s that nothing about this relationship was grown organically.”

“Hang on,” Clint says abruptly. “You can’t say that. I mean, yeah, you were brought into our lives unconventionally, but we didn’t _force_ you to keep coming here. Laura didn’t force her feelings on you, and neither did I. All of this happened because you felt something for us, Nat. And we felt something for you, too. We’ve all worked through this together.”

“I’m not denying that,” Natasha says in frustration. “But there’s a difference, Clint. To _me_. When I look around this house, I see a history. A different history than what I have with you, or with Laura, or even with your kids. Please try to understand that.”

Clint sighs, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Is that why you and Banner...I dunno...whatever you were --”

“Whatever Banner and I _were_ was nothing,” Natasha responds curtly, her voice rising. “He had no history either, so I thought maybe...I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, because it was stupid. _I_ was stupid. I don’t want to talk about it, because it’s over, and it was my mistake and it cost me being here for Nathaniel’s birth and I will never, _ever_ forgive myself for that.”

Clint chews on his tongue, sticking it inside his cheek. “I understand what you mean,” he says finally. “About having a history or...whatever you want to call it. But you know that doesn’t make you any less important in our lives. You’ve always known that.”

“I do know,” Natasha says quietly. “And…” She squares her shoulders, looking straight ahead. “And that’s why I wanted tell you that I’m planning on moving in. For real.”

“What?” Clint asks at the same time Laura leans forward.

“You’re serious?”

Natasha nods, looking at both of them. “I know it'll be an adjustment. I'm not exactly planning to tell the team that this is my home, but I'll deal with that if it comes to it. I can get my stuff, or whatever’s left of it, at least, from New York.”

“Natasha.” Laura’s voice is soft and hesitant, and she watches Natasha's eyes fill with tears. “I want this. I love you. You know I love you. But I can’t...if you promise this, I can’t have you go back on it. We can’t go through that again. The kids can’t go through that again.”

“And you won’t have to,” Natasha says. “Laura, I promised Lila I’d be her mother. Cooper almost lost his father, the thing he was so terrified about, and I was so screwed up in my own head with concentrating on Banner, trying to be normal and following a stupid feeling, that I wasn’t even there to be the mother for a child that was supposed to be mine. I’ve spent too many years running from you, and from this. I can’t do that anymore. I want this to be _real_.” She takes a deep breath. “And real starts with me living here, as a part of this family. Officially. No more running, no more going away, no more Aunt Nat. Unless the kids want to keep calling me that for sentimental reasons. I want this place to be my home.”

Clint’s face is a mixture of relief and hope. “So, you...you really want this?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, looking at Laura with a small smile. “I really do.”

Laura can’t help it -- she kisses Natasha, letting her tongue settle in her mouth before she uses it to trace soft circles on the inside of her lips, sucking gently. Natasha moans out of instinct, and Laura feels a pressure pushing up against her back, one she recognizes as Clint’s erection, before his mouth starts working its way over the back of her neck.

“Do you want _this_?” Laura asks, drawing back enough so that she can speak. Natasha breathes out slowly, sharing her air in a way that seems to make the moment even more intimate.

“Yes,” Natasha says softly and Clint nods behind her in agreement. Over fifteen years of knowing her husband has put her in tune with everything about him, including when she needs to make sure it’s okay to be intimate. New York had changed all of that, it had made him more hesitant when it came to spontaneous moments like this, and while Laura knows he’s still not over that she also knows that Clint can read _her_ well enough to trust what she’s asking even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

Laura turns her head, allowing Clint access to her mouth while Natasha runs her hands over Laura’s breasts, pushing up her shirt and cupping each one with soft hands. Natasha’s lips close over one of her nipples; it’s a different sensation than when any of her kids have nursed and even though that had also been a feeling of intimacy, Natasha’s mouth on the most sensitive part of her skin makes her stomach flip in a way that sends a shock all the way down to her toes.

“I want to watch,” Laura says when Clint breaks their kiss. Clint draws back and looks at her in slight confusion.

“You --”

“Yes,” Laura affirms, looking at Natasha. “After all these years, I want to see it. Just for a little bit. Just...please show me.”

Clint still looks uncertain, as if he’s afraid to push himself this far over the edge even though Laura knows he’s well aware that there’s nothing he needs to worry about. Natasha rolls her eyes before grabbing Laura’s face with two hands, kissing her with more passion than Laura expects.

“Clint,” Natasha says, her voice breathless as she comes up for air. “It’s what she wants. So stop staring, and at least let me suck your dick.”

Clint barks out a laugh as Natasha motions towards the bed, where Clint lies down after quickly getting out of the rest of his clothes. Natasha takes off hers for good measure before spreading his legs, his cock prominent and full as she takes him in his mouth. Laura fights back a moan as Natasha’s mouth wraps itself around Clint’s dick, watching her suck with varying degrees of speed the same way Laura knows she’s used to when they experience foreplay. Clint groans, his neck arching as his fingers dig into the sheets, his chest heaving with what Laura can tell is the exertion of trying to keep his orgasm at bay. Natasha slides off, drawing back before leaning forward again and lowering herself onto him. She inserts herself easily, moving up and down in a gentle but intense rhythm that's both controlled and passionate, and Laura finds herself literally breathless. She's fantasized, more than once over the years, about what Natasha’s sex with Clint was like, because she knew it had to be different than what they did at home. But finally seeing it and having the image come alive in front of her is nothing like what her mind has painted pictures of. It’s passionate and mesmerizing in a way Laura’s unprepared for, and it’s easy to see how in tune they are with each other’s bodies, how practiced their movements are, a routine rooted in trust and respect and love.

“Ready for your turn?” Natasha asks when she pulls out, running her tongue along his tip once more for good measure, causing him to whine pitifully in a way that Laura thinks might be Natasha’s way of teasing. Laura nods, her mouth dry, and Natasha pushes Laura down on the bed. She walks two fingers inside of her, fingering her clit, twisting hard as Laura cries out, muffling her sounds in the pillow. Natasha continues to work Laura in a way that she’s never experienced before, not even when Clint has come home bragging about new and improved positions he’s learned on the road.

Clint pushes hair back from Laura’s forehead as he moves closer and props himself up, encouraging her to take him in her mouth. She does, and the combined sensation of Natasha now going down on her while working Clint at the same time is enough to send her over the edge. As her orgasm builds, she’s overcome with a realization of how much she’s _needed_ this -- not just sex, not even just Natasha and Clint together, but all of them and this moment. It wasn’t that their threesome hadn’t been real when they had slept together for the first time after Laura’s miscarriage, but the situation had, in some ways, been a means to an end. This was a _want_ and a _need_ and something that felt genuinely earned. She pulls off of Clint when he tenses, allowing him to come safely into his palm.

“I love you,” Laura says desperately, the words spilling out before she can stop them. “I love you, I love you, I love you --”

Her words are lost as her orgasm rolls through her and Natasha gasps in tandem. Laura dimly realizes that while she’s been busy getting Clint off, Clint’s _other_ hand has been working Natasha while she’d been focused on satisfying Laura’s needs. She shudders and collapses onto Laura’s body, sticky skin meeting her own, and Laura tries to control her breathing as her orgasm subsides.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters from where he’s sprawled back on the bed, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table so that he can wipe off his hands and clean himself up. He allows his head to fall onto the pillow, closing his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , we have to do that more often now that you’re going to live here.”

Laura can’t help the exhausted laugh that escapes her throat, feeling the curve of Natasha’s smile against her stomach. “We should. We can try out my dildo.”

Natasha raises her head, half-lidded eyes slotting into narrowed slits. “When the hell did you get a dildo?” she asks in surprise, and Laura feels herself blush.

“After our first...experience, I did some research on threesomes when it comes to two girls. Apparently, we should think about satisfying the man, too.”

“Oh, he gets enough from us,” Natasha says airily, wrapping her arms around Laura’s torso. “In fact, this is like a present.”

“Not complaining,” Clint mutters, his breathing still heavy and labored. Laura smiles contently, rolling over to snuggle into him as Natasha sits up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, pulling on her discarded clothes and leaning over to kiss Clint and Laura.

“Don’t wake the kids,” Clint warns as Natasha opens the door slowly and quietly before tiptoeing out. When the soft click of the bathroom door signals that Natasha’s completely out of earshot, Laura turns to Clint.

“Maybe we should do it.”

Clint rolls over from where he’s been dozing off with his cheek pressed into the pillow. “Do what?”

Laura looks down and fingers her wedding ring, remembering how it had felt to share Natasha’s orgasm, and how it had felt to watch Natasha and her husband make love. “Make it official. All of us.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly an option. You know as well as I do that polygamy is illegal in the United States.”

“I do know that. And I’m not talking about breaking laws,” Laura says with a small sigh. “I’m talking about a ceremony. And a ring. And vows. All of the things that, to us, would make it real. And then sitting down with Cooper and finally telling him that we all have this relationship with each other. Maybe talking to lawyers about custody and legalizations, eventually.” She notices Clint has moved so that he’s half-sitting up, no longer lazily stretched out on the pillow but instead fully alert.

“Laura. This is a lot.”

“Is it?”

“If I think it’s a lot, and I’m married to you and _want_ this life, don’t you think it’s going to be a lot for her, also? Knowing she’s the way she is?”

Laura bites her lip. “I don’t know,” she says sadly. “I think it might help, based on that conversation earlier. Maybe she needs this.”

Clint rolls over onto his back. “You _do_ remember that she freaked the hell out when you gave her that ring a few years ago, right?”

“I know,” Laura says. “It was the wrong time. I see that, now. Now I know better.”

Clint grunts. “And Cooper?”

Laura lies down again, taking his hand. “It’s probably long past time for us to tell Cooper that his parents aren’t exactly conventional, because he either hears it from us, or from the school playground. And I’d rather it come from us.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t already know,” Clint mutters and Laura shrugs.

“He might. He did ask Hannah about having two moms a few years ago, so he’s not entirely blind...but maybe he just hasn’t said anything.”

“Our kid? No way.” Clint shakes his head, opening his eyes. “I guess Lila can wait a few years. I’m assuming she’s forgotten about last year’s...incident.”

“Let’s _hope_ ,” Laura says with a sigh. “I suppose at some point I should tell my parents, too.”

Clint looks up in surprise, his brow creasing. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I mean, if you don’t want to. This could still just be ours, you know. Just...us.”

Laura runs her fingers over a scar on his forehead. “Unless you have strong feelings about it, I...I don’t want to hide anymore,” she says slowly. “I want this to be our thing, I do, but I also want the love and support we could have from our family, and I want other people to share this. We’ve all been hiding this part of ourselves for too long, and Natasha deserves a family. And she’s right. It’s time to make it real.”

Clint nods slowly as she talks. “How do you think Bob Foster will react when he learns his daughter not only likes girls, but has also been making out with her husband’s partner for over ten years?”

Laura grins. “Well, he’d say he’d never expect it from the tomboy she was. Though honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t suspected anything, given how much Natasha’s been around over the past few years and given how Lila constantly calls her 'Mommy Tasha.' I’m pretty sure my mom knows something’s going on and hasn’t said anything.”

“She _did_ know I was SHIELD without letting on until that Christmas when she gave me a new set of arrows,” Clint grumbles. Laura flashes him a smile.

“You’re still pissed about that? I think you’re more upset than I am. Besides, that’s nothing. When I was in college, I’d buy bus tickets with my own money and visit my friends in Chicago, and then tell my mom I was studying for the weekend. She knew for years that wasn’t the case.”

“What about everyone else?” Clint asks, and Laura glares.

“Seriously? I'm obviously not planning on telling your friends anytime soon. Unless Maria wants to come back for taco and tequila night, because it’s been awhile. But let’s face it, Fury probably knew we were all sleeping together the first time Natasha came back to SHIELD with crayons hidden in her suit by accident. He _definitely_ knew you and Natasha were sleeping together.”

“But --”

“Clint.” Laura rolls her eyes. “I love you, and I know you do the spy thing for a living, but trust me. You’re not _that_ subtle when you look at her.” She smiles again and leans over, kissing him gently. “I’m serious. No more hiding.”

Clint nods as she pulls away, sharing her smile. “Alright,” he says, meeting her eyes in confirmation. “No more hiding.”

 

***

 

A few days later, after Laura has taken Lila to swimming lessons and Nathaniel has been put down for a potential nap, Laura brings Cooper outside to sit with Clint and Natasha, who are lounging on the big swing.

“What’s going on?” Cooper asks as he slides in between them, snuggling against Clint’s side. Clint allows himself to feel a little bit of pride over the fact that his son still _does_ want to cuddle, even in his burgeoning teenage state. Laura sits down cross-legged in front of them as Natasha puts her arm around Cooper.

“Well, you’ve always asked if I’m going to live here. And I am.”

Cooper’s eyes light up at her words and he twists his head, staring at Natasha with a look Clint can only describe as pure glee. “ _Really_? Really really?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, matching his smile. “Really really.” She pauses. “But we need to talk to you about something else, too.”

Cooper tilts his head curiously as Natasha adjusts herself in the swing. “Okay. What now?”

“Well.” Clint clears his throat as Cooper turns to his father. “You’ve known for awhile that your life is a little different, right? Because Natasha is part of the family?”

Cooper nods slowly. “Yeah. I guess. But, I dunno. I mean, she lives here basically and she’s my mom, or you say she’s my mom. And sometimes I feel like I have two moms and it’s confusing because Natasha’s not here all the time, but I think...she _used_ to be. Right?”

“Yes,” Clint admits. “When you were little, she was here a lot. Even though she didn’t really live at the house. But she spent a lot of time with you growing up. That’s why you remember her so clearly.”

“Yeah, cause she was here for all the things I did and every time I came home from school for awhile,” Cooper says. “And she was around a lot for Lila. She was there when mom had Lila, and she was around all the time. That’s why she’s Aunt Tasha. Because Lila had a mom but needed an aunt. And I thought Nat was my mom and I didn’t think Lila could have two moms.” He stops suddenly, as if he realizes how confusing his words sound out loud, and Clint supposes he’s trying to rationalize both his memories and whatever knowledge he has of this kind of situation. “But I’m being silly,” he says when he speaks again, and his voice becomes soft as he turns his head towards Natasha. “You’re not really my mom, right?”

Clint’s throat tightens as Natasha leans forward, putting her hand on Cooper’s leg. “I’m not the person that was there when you were born. And you know that I didn’t give birth to you. But you _think_ of me as your mom, right?”

Cooper purses his lips, scrunching up his face in thought, and Clint sees a mirror image of Laura looking at a student’s test, trying to figure out how they solved a chemistry equation. “Trevor at school has two moms and one dad, because his dad married another mom when they decided they didn’t love each other anymore.” He looks up at Clint, his upper lip trembling slightly. “But...you still love mommy, right? Mommy’s not going to leave because now I’ll have two moms? Are you going to stop loving mommy because Nat lives here?”

“Oh, Coop.” Clint strokes his hair and circles an arm around him, bringing him close. “Coop, I’ve loved your mom since the very first day I met her. Nothing is _ever_ going to change that. Mom’s always going to be with us and I’m never going to stop loving her, I promise.”

“But.” Cooper’s brow furrows in a look that’s so Natasha, Clint finds himself wondering how his son can even have such distinct traits if they didn’t know her when he was born. “You love Tasha and you’re not married to Tasha.”

“Not officially,” Clint says. “But I _do_ love her. The same way I love your mom. And she loves me, and mom loves her.”

Cooper looks genuinely confused. “So...you’re in love,” he says slowly, making a face. Clint swallows a laugh, because he knows that to his son, _love_ and things like kissing are thoughts that seem unappealing. “You’re in love with Natasha.”

“And with mom,” Clint adds. “And that’s why we’re going to live together, because we all love each other. No one is going to leave this family. I promise.”

“And we all love you,” Natasha breaks in. “We want you to know that. Just because I’m living here now, and just because I’m going to be with your mom and dad all the time, it doesn’t mean your dad loves your mom any less. It means we love you even _more_.”

Cooper stays quiet for a long time and then looks up at Natasha. “Can I ask you something?”

Natasha arches a brow. “Of course. Anything.”

“How long…I mean…” He stops, letting out a deep breath, looking embarrassed. “How long have you loved dad? Longer than he’s loved mom?”

Natasha smiles sadly. “No, love.” She kisses the top of his head. “I didn’t meet your dad until after he was married. He loved your mom, first. But I fell in love with him eventually, and he let me love him back. And I’m glad he did, because thanks to him, I got you in my life. And I got Lila, and your mom, and now Nate. You’re my family.”

Cooper considers this before regarding all three adults suspiciously. “You told me before you were never gonna have a baby with Aunt Nat,” he says, turning to Clint. “So are you gonna have a baby with Aunt Nat now that you love her? Are you going to marry her? Am I going to have two moms forever? Am --”

“One question at a time,” Clint says gently, holding up his hand as Cooper stops talking. “There are certain laws, Coop, so we can’t be married the same way that your mom and I are married. It won’t be like you’ve seen in the photos. But Natasha will have a ring, like we do. And yes, you’ll have two moms forever. Natasha’s part of our family now. She’s going to be a part of your life the same way mom is. She’ll take you to games and school and help you with your homework and she’ll tuck you into bed and play with you and come on vacations with us and spend holidays with us. As for the baby, yes, there might be another baby that we’ll all share. And if that happens, it’ll be Natasha’s, but it will belong to all of us, too. Is that okay?”

Cooper nods slowly. “Yeah. I guess that’s okay.” He starts to smile slyly. “If there’s another baby, can I help name it?”

Clint smiles back. “We’ll think about it. If it happens, we’ll talk to you about it a lot. I promise. But that’s not something we’re worried about right now. We have a lot to think about with Natasha moving in, so we’re not ready to figure that out yet.”

“Oh.” Cooper looks down at his lap, studying his hands. “So...when does Lila get to know about Tasha being another mom?”

“When we feel it’s the right time to tell her,” Laura interjects. “Lila’s had a different experience with Natasha than you have, and she’s still a little too young to understand why we all love each other like this. It’s only fair that we figure out when and where to tell her, so for now, this has to stay between us. Is that okay?”

Cooper bites down on his lip and nods. “A secret?”

“Kind of,” Laura agrees. “A special secret between your two moms and your dad.”

“Except with me, dad’s not outnumbered!”

Laura laughs. “Well, your little brother has already helped with that argument,” she says with a smile as Clint kisses Cooper and Natasha rubs his shoulders. “Is there anything else you want to ask us?”

Cooper’s face turns pensive. “So...just to make sure. I get _two_ mommys? I get mommy _and_ Tasha forever?”

Laura smiles wider. “Yes,” she answers. “But don’t you dare think that means you get special treatment. Natasha’s known you since you were a baby, and between the three of us, we know all of your tricks.” She sobers, looking at her son seriously. “Coop, listen. If you’re not okay with any of this, at any point...if you’re scared or worried, or if you have questions about things you don’t understand, I want you to come to us. Don’t go to anyone else. We can help, and we’ll be open and honest about things and about how Natasha is fitting into our lives. And we can talk and make sure that you understand everything that’s going on. We want you to know that.”

Cooper takes a deep breath. “And you’ll....you’ll still love me the same as usual?”

Clint swallows down unexpected emotion and hugs his son tightly. “I love you to the moon and back, and I always will,” he promises. “You have three adults that love you and want the best for you, Coop. You always have. It’s just more permanent now than it was before.”

Cooper smiles shyly, staring up at Natasha. “I’m glad Tasha is going to be my mom for real,” he says when he speaks again. “Cause I love her.”

Natasha’s eyes are shining with tears that Clint knows she’d normally keep hidden, and she smiles back at him.

“You know what, Coop? I’m also glad I’m going to be your mom for real. Because I love you, too.”

 

***

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Clint asks as he pulls the rented tux from his suitcase. “It feels like 2001 all over again.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Laura stares at herself in the mirror, trying to recognize the girl who might have stood here so long ago, in this very space, waiting to marry the man she loved. “Besides, I think fifteen years is enough time to warrant a vow renewal.”

“Unorthodox vow renewal,” Clint mutters as he shrugs into his dress shirt, and Laura sighs.

“Have we _ever_ done anything the normal way?”

“Fair point.” He motions towards her. “You want me to zip you up?”

Laura nods, turning around and pulling her long hair over one shoulder. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a bit strange standing here in her wedding dress, which she had pulled from the recesses of their closet, surprised to find that it still fit after years of fluctuating weight and three children. But they had wanted to go all in or not at all, and Laura knows this whole situation wouldn’t feel the same if they weren’t dressed for the occasion.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says, glancing at his watch as he pulls on his jacket. “We told her to meet us at the lake by six.”

“I know.” Laura reaches for her shoes and sits down on the bed. “Just give me a second to find it.”

Clint looks up as Laura puts on her heeled sandals and then grabs for her purse, rummaging around until she takes out the small white-gold ring, holding it up to the light.

“She’s not going to believe you kept it,” Clint says and Laura smiles as she hands the ring to Clint, who pockets the object.

“I’m sure she probably thinks it got lost in the house, or that Lila ate it at some point. But when she left with that note, I made sure to put it away. In case she ever decided it _was_ something she wanted.” She pauses, looking at Clint. “You know, you look even better than you did fifteen years ago,” she admits, getting up and kissing him gently. Clint smiles.

“I could say the same for you, Mrs. Foster-Barton.”

Laura takes his hand and brings it to her cheek, resting his palm against her skin. “I still need to do my makeup. If we’re being authentic, that is.”

“Of course.” Clint nods and motions towards the bed. Laura sits back down again and Clint gathers supplies from Laura’s bag, pulling a chair over.

“Easier or harder than Lila?” Laura asks as he dabs a brush in eyeshadow and signals for her to close her eyes.

“Easier, technically. Bigger face,” Clint says with a hum. “But then again, more distracting.” As if to prove his point, his thumb brushes over her cheekbone, his forefinger gently holding her lid closed as he works and she shivers.

“You’re not staring at yourself while you work,” Laura teases back, opening her eyes as he reaches for lipstick, unscrewing the top. Clint smiles.

“So, we both want to screw each other before we even take our vows. That’s pretty much 2001, right?”

Laura laughs, smearing lipstick by accident. “Pretty much. I’m surprised I made it down there, considering how nervous I was. My mom kept trying to reassure me, but I just wanted to sleep with you and get it over with.”

“That makes two of us,” Clint says as he takes a tissue, wiping red lines off her cheek. “Stay still, I need to finish this.”

Laura breathes in and out slowly as Clint works on her eyes and cheeks and then her lips again, his hands cupping her face in a gentle hold. When he steps away, she inspects his work with a hand mirror.

“Pretty good,” she says with a small smile. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Clint snorts as he grabs for shiny black shoes. “You _think_?”

“Mmmm.” Laura blows a kiss from across the room, careful not to mess up his work. “You’re right. I guess the argument is a little invalid after fifteen years.” She eyes him as he slings a bowtie around his neck, tying it easily. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Clint agrees, taking her hand. They exit the house and start walking towards the lake, and Laura’s relieved to find that they’re the only ones there -- despite the fact she had deliberately told Natasha to arrive ten minutes later in order for the surprise to work properly, she also had no idea if Natasha’s suspicions would cause her to disobey those orders.

Clint holds tightly to Laura’s palm, helping her traverse over the stones lining the rocky path of the beach until they reach the sand, the lake glistening in front of them like the untarnished top of a smooth, sparkling diamond. Laura stares out at the water, suddenly noticing that her heart is beating a little too fast. She realizes there have been so many years of wondering if Natasha would commit or run that she doesn’t truly know if she can trust that, in this moment, Natasha won’t ultimately choose the latter. When Clint’s fingers tighten around her own, Laura looks up, a smile emerging on her face when she sees Natasha approach. She’s wearing the dress Laura had politely asked her to put on, a simple black and white number that she had picked out at the mall. Her red hair, which is growing again and looks similar to the length Laura remembers from when they first met so many years ago, is curled in small ringlets and she’s wearing minimal makeup and jewelry, and everything about her looks natural and pure. Laura watches her get closer and feels her insides flutter because all of a sudden, it really _does_ feel like their wedding day all over again.

“I can’t believe you talked me into wearing heels and a _dress_ on the _beach_...what is this?” Natasha asks suspiciously as she slows to a stop in front of them. Laura takes a deep breath.

“This,” Laura says with a smile, “is your wedding day. It’s also the same place Clint and I got married.”

Natasha looks around, taking in the scenery, before turning her eyes back to Laura and Clint. “For some reason, I always assumed you guys got married in a church.”

“What, the ten thousand retellings of our proposal story didn’t come with a huge, drawn-out reenactment of what happened after?” Laura asks with an eyebrow raise. Natasha looks a little guilty.

“I...never actually let him get that far before I shut him up.”

Laura hides a smile, turning around to face the lake. “My parents were open to where I wanted to get married, and although I always thought I’d get married in a church, Clint didn’t feel comfortable in a religious setting. Since he proposed to me here and this place had meaning for us as well as my family, we decided to just keep it simple. It was a small wedding. Basically just my family and a friend from the Air Force that my dad knew, who officiated. We went to a restaurant afterwards to celebrate, and that was pretty much it.” Laura pauses, remembering Clint’s moody bar detour, and thinks better of rehashing it. “We didn’t even have a real honeymoon, but I didn’t care. I was happy.” She reaches for Clint’s hand. “We want to make you happy too, Nat. And I know you’re living with us now, and that makes it real, but it’s more than time that we made this official.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Natasha asks sarcastically. “With a ball of twine that your husband lovingly makes into a piece of jewelry while you both get down on your knees?”

“No,” Laura says, rolling her eyes and glancing at Clint. “With this.” She waits as Clint takes out the small ring, and Laura hears Natasha gasp quietly as he opens his palm.

“Where...where did you get that?”

“Oh.” Laura smiles. “Someone special left it on the kitchen table a few years ago with a note that said _I’m sorry_ , and someone else decided that they should keep it in case that person ever decided they wanted it back.”

Natasha shakes her head. “I left you that night,” she says, still staring at the ring and not making any attempt to take it. “I abandoned you because I was selfish. I took off without even saying goodbye.”

“You did,” Laura says quietly. “And it hurt. But you came back, Natasha. You apologized, and you continued to come back when I needed you. When _we_ needed you.”

Natasha chews on her bottom lip. “That’s not fair. That’s not...you know that I pretty much missed Nate’s entire birth, because I was selfish.”

Laura finds her eyes warmly. “And I was upset about that, too, but I forgave you. The way I _always_ will, because I love you.”

Natasha remains quiet, staring at the ring still sitting in Clint's palm. She reaches out with shaking fingers, as if she’s scared to touch it, and then retracts her hand suddenly.

“I can never...I’m not going to have a baby. Not by natural means, at least. I’m never going to be the person who wakes up and makes cinnamon rolls for birthday parties at five in the morning.”

“And I’m never going to be the person who runs into the line of fire and shoots arrows or guns,” Laura responds. “And Clint’s never going to be the person who gets up at two in the morning and doesn’t wake everyone _else_ up because he trips over something in the living room.”

“Hey!” Clint sounds wounded and Laura ignores him.

“But Natasha, we will both be the people that love you. We’ll _both_ be the people that look after you and involve you in our lives, in our children’s lives, whether or not that’s what you want. You can live with us, sleep with us, be a part of our family. That will happen with or without any official ceremony or rings. But if you want this, and if we do this, I want to at least give you the opportunity to do it right.”

Natasha takes a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I was married, once. For undercover reasons, and then not.” She tries to smile. “It sucked.”

“Pfft.” Clint blows out a breath. “I’m sure our sex is better.” Laura shoots him a look as Natasha’s lips curl.

“That goes without saying. But I never thought I would willingly hand my life over to anyone ever again, at least, not without knowing if it could still be my own. I just tried to do that, and I failed.”

Laura reaches up and strokes her hair with her free hand. “Look, Nat...if you don’t want it, I’ll take it back. It won’t offend us. I’m not going to force this on you. But even if you don’t take the ring, the sentiment won’t change. You WILL be married and be a part of our lives, for legal purposes in the future, and for every other purpose.”

“Polygamy, huh?” Natasha smiles and then takes the ring, twirling it between her fingers. As she does so, Laura swears she can see a tear drip down her face.

“So, that’s settled?” Clint asks quietly, and Natasha nods.

“Yeah,” she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. Clint nods.

“Okay. Then, here. Just a few things to do before you put it on.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two crumpled pieces of paper, smoothing them down as he hands them over. Natasha frowns, and the breeze from the lake pulls parts of her hair across her forehead.

“What are these?”

Clint hesitates, glancing at Laura. “Our vows,” he says and Natasha looks a little startled.

“Your _vows_?”

“Yeah, well. We’re all getting married right now. And Laura and I thought fifteen years of marriage was more than enough time to warrant a vow renewal. The timing kind of worked out, so...we thought maybe you wanted to share that with us.”

Natasha falls quiet again, and Laura’s stomach flips.

“Nat,” Laura begins after a long moment. “If you don’t want to --”

“No.” Natasha takes a breath. “No. I agree with Laura. This has been too long in the making. So if we’re doing this, we’re doing this right.” She glances down at the two pieces of paper that Clint and Laura are holding and then lifts her gaze. “It doesn’t...my vows. They don’t have to be polished or anything, right?”

“Of course not,” Laura says gently. “They don’t even have to be long. I should tell you about the grief Clint went through when he was writing his. I almost killed him.”

“I did okay in the end,” Clint grumbles and Natasha smiles, playing with the ring again.

“Okay.” She closes her fingers over the thin band and stays silent for a long time before she speaks again. “I, uh...I used to think I didn’t deserve second chances. I thought my legacy was to die for my country, or to die as a traitor and as a killer. I had done too many things that left me thinking I would never be worth anything to anyone. That changed the day Clint brought me back here. It wasn’t the fact that he brought me back to America or gave me a chance to reinvent my life. It was the fact that he gave me a home and didn’t judge me for the things I had done in my past.” Her lips fold into the beginning of a smile. “But I felt like my life didn’t really start until Clint got hurt and I came to your house for the first time. The night I met you and we sat on the couch when we couldn’t sleep, I realized how different you were. You didn’t stop to wonder what my past was. Even if you did, all you cared about was that I had saved your husband. I understood you, that day. I think it’s when I fell in love. You held my hand, and you trusted me with your children, and you let them love me. And you let me make mistakes and never stopped loving me.” She stops, moving her gaze over to Clint.

“You were so worried the first time we were intimate together, because you thought you were being disloyal to your wife. I never understood how you could think like that, because I knew you were the most compassionate, loyal person I’d ever met. I never questioned you about Laura, because I knew you had to have a wife that was just as dedicated and loving as you were. You wouldn’t have opened up with anyone else unless you felt like you could do so comfortably. And the first time you slept with me, it wasn’t because you thought it was the right thing to do or because you felt sorry for me. It was because you genuinely felt something for me and wanted to show me what could be real. You’ve almost thrown away your life for me, you’ve supported me, and you’ve only done it because you love me. You both always reminded me how it felt to have something _real_...I didn’t know love before either of you came into my life. But I do know love, now.”

There’s a quiet that settles between them, a silence only marred by the whistling breeze that winds its way through the trees and the lapping waves of the lake and the soft scream of birds somewhere above them. Laura stares at Natasha and tries to keep her eyes from leaking, knowing it will ruin her makeup.

“Well, at least tell me if it sucked,” Natasha says after a moment, her voice hoarse and hesitant, and Laura manages a laugh.

“It didn’t suck,” she assures Natasha, reaching for the hand that’s not holding the ring and squeezing it gently. “Clint. Your turn.”

She watches her husband read off his own vows, silently reciting them along with him, without letting go of Natasha’s hand. When Clint finishes, Laura reads her vows from her own paper.

“God, you really were in love,” Natasha says after Clint repeats her sentiment of _“you don’t get to die first,”_ and Laura can tell she’s trying to break the heavy mood. She lets go of Natasha’s hand as Natasha opens her fist, revealing the silver ring in her palm.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. Clint takes the ring and Laura helps slide it onto Natasha’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Laura and Clint repeat in unison, their voices just as soft. Natasha exhales slowly as she looks down at her hand and smiles, and there’s an easiness that settles over them, blanketing Laura in a feeling of comfort and peace.

Because, she realizes suddenly, it’s not about rings and it’s not about marriage. It’s not about sex, or who cleans up the living room, or who wipes up the spill of a baby bottle or the broken glass of a wine cup.

Laura loves Clint. She had loved him from the first day she laid eyes on him at a dingy bar near school campus, and at the time, her heart had been so full she didn’t think she could ever love anyone else, even though the birth of each of her children kept proving her wrong. And then she had met Natasha, and she had fallen for Natasha, and she had ended up loving her just as much, despite however long it had taken Natasha to admit she loved her back. And that’s what has bound all of them, she knows, and what has kept them coming back to each other, despite the miscommunications and fights and different life experiences. That’s what they’ve found in each other that they had never been able to unearth, even between themselves.

It’s not about commitment, or rings, or past lives and secrets. It’s about _love_.

Laura turns to look at Clint, and Clint squeezes her hand. Natasha smiles with tears in her eyes, sunlight from the lake catching reflection in her pupils, her ring a tangible weight against Laura’s skin when she puts her hand around her waist. She repeats the word Laura lets fall from her lips, silently but clearly.

_Home._

And in that moment, surrounded by two people who she loves more than anything else in the world, Laura Barton feels like the luckiest person to walk the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the length of these author notes but it takes a village, and this was a journey, and there are SO many people I need to give credit to: fidesangelus and intrikate88 for walking me through feelings of the initial fic that started all of this, for brainstorming, and for sharing ideas and giving me song titles that led to fic titles. My other half, gecko, for constantly listening to me whine about my writing process and offering help and support, even though this is not her pairing at all. ALL OF YOU on Tumblr who pressured me into writing this and suggested the deleted scenes idea when I posted asking what to do since I wanted to keep telling stories, but I had already written something long and involved. Shelly, my fandom wife, my wonderful, beautiful friend who I love so much and who I wouldn’t have even known if this fic (and OT3) didn’t exist -- thank you for the fic writing dates on your couch and over FaceTime and for letting me cuddle with your dog and being my constant writing companion every single night now that WE LIVE IN THE SAME CITY -- you are my shock collar, you are the best thing to come out of this OT3. Thank you to nathanielbarton, who went above and beyond making gifsets of scenes in this fic that make me cry -- I don’t care if you made one or ten, the fact that you cared about this story enough to do it at all means the world to a writer. To the tumblr Barton Fam OT3 gang: you all know who you are. There may only be a few of us, but I love you all for being with me in my corner and constantly supporting this fic. Finally, to my regular readers, who stuck with this from the beginning to the end and always commented without fail and gave me support and love: you also know who you are and I appreciate you from the depths of my soul.
> 
> I came into AoU a Clintasha shipper, and wary of everything Laura and the farm would offer. I came out okay with the whole thing, largely thanks to Auntie Nat, and started writing a lot of fic about Laura and Clint as a couple to explore that new dynamic since I loved Laura as a character. When I sat down and started to think about how these three could co-exist together, love each other and become a family, I fell into a deep hole of an OT3 that I never want to climb out of. I’ve written a lot of fic, but writing this story might be one of the things I’m most proud of, and one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had. It was truly a labor of love in every single way. 
> 
> When I started TTCRD, it was largely because I wasn’t ready to leave behind the stories and world I created in ILOTWTD, a story that came out very quickly and very passionately. I soon realized that I hadn’t told it nearly as well as it deserved to be told when it came to these three, and that I needed to keep writing more, and thus the idea for deleted scenes was born. The original intent was to write semi-long chapters that were mostly moments I didn’t get to tell in the original fic. What ended up happening was a whole new outline, an entire new storyline, and chapters of 10,000+ words each that were much more involved than I ever intended. In the same way, TTCRD became its own story and it’s own little world. I couldn’t be happier about that. So, if you have read even one sentence of this long thing, please know how much I appreciate it. If you have rec’ed it, read it multiple times, left a kudos or comment, bookmarked it, shared it or talked about it, please know how much that means to me. Finally -- there has been some interest in reading this story in chronological order. If that's something enough people are interested in, now that it's complete, I'd consider making a new story with ordered chapters that I'd add to this series as another option for enjoying it (similar to when people post podfics).
> 
> The universe itself isn’t completed, and while I don’t know what Civil War will hold, I already have a few ideas and outlines. I can't promise what happens next will be an epic of the same length and complexity (although never say never) but I _can_ promise there will be more to come of this OT3 in a sequel of sorts, so rest assured.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com) for more OT3 flails and fic!


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